


When It All Goes Wrong

by AZGirl



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blink-and-miss-it references to multiple episodes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘What can go wrong, will go wrong’ becomes a very apt expression when Reese fails to get there in time to help a Number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrong Place

**Author's Note:**

> On a whim, I put this chapter up even though I don't like to post WIPs. I can't guarantee when future chapters will be posted. Thanks for your patience... 
> 
> Currently, this takes place sometime around post-2.13 'Dead Reckoning' and pre-2.20 'In Extremis', though I do incorporate knowledge the audience learns from all episodes through to the end of season two.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter One: Wrong Place**    

The explosion shook the building, causing him to stumble on the stairs and almost lose his flashlight. He was too late; he had failed to protect their Number.

If he’d been smarter, faster, younger, then maybe…

Emergency lights briefly tried to come on, but they flickered on and off a few times before staying off. The brightness of the sudden, but brief flare of light interrupted his negative thoughts, and as he changed direction on the stairwell and started running up the stairs, he rebuked himself for wasting some of the precious seconds he had left to get out of the building.

Reese continued heading up back towards the ground level using the flashlight to guide him and trying not to kill himself in his haste. He knew that an enclosed stairwell was one of the worst places in the building he could be right now since it would be an easy conduit for the fire to pass through to the surface. It may already be too late for him, but he had to try. Knowing Finch often listened in while he was on a job, he spared a thought as to why there was no guiding voice from his partner in his ear. Only one explanation came to mind—the explosion had interfered with the transmission.

As he barreled through the stairwell door and started running towards the exit, he could hear another explosion followed immediately by the concussive force rippling through the building. The ambient temperature had definitely increased and he would be surprised if the destructive force that was chasing him wasn’t actually nipping right at his heels, but he didn’t dare glance behind him. John ran full-tilt towards the exit even though he was pretty confident that he didn’t have enough time to get out of the building; his survival seemed unlikely.

But he had to attempt to get out alive; Finch would never forgive him if he didn’t. Back at the beginning of their partnership, when he’d finally committed himself to their Number Crusade, he had promised himself that he would never again allow himself to go down without a fight. With Jessica’s death and the betrayal by the CIA, he’d let his life continually spiral downward until death had nearly become his best option of escape. No more would he allow defeat to come so easily.

He wished for a moment that he could say something to his friend, but knew that he was wishing in vain. The older man would in no way have remained silent for so long in a situation like this, so he had to assume his theory was correct; that their communications had been completely cut off due to the explosion.

Briefly, he felt regret that unlike the other times he’d been in extreme danger, they wouldn’t be able to have any last words, but that regret quickly morphed into relief that his friend wouldn’t have to listen to the sounds leading up to his death. He wouldn’t wish that kind of torture on anyone, and Harold did not deserve it no matter what the other man might think. They had done the best they could with the information they’d had; it was his fault alone that he hadn’t been able to prevent their current Number from being killed.

Up ahead he saw a weak shaft of red light which signaled the exit. How the electricity for that one sign was still on, he had no idea. He was almost there, maybe, just maybe, he hd a chance to make it out of there alive.

He should have known better than to have had that thought, because in the next instant he could feel the heat begin to enfold him like a blanket and the oxygen being sucked from the room.

Reese put on a last burst of speed even though he knew he was out of time. Perhaps he could at least make it to the corridor which housed the exit. Maybe the stone wall would mitigate some of the damage his body was going to take from the blast. He just had to make it around that corner.

The exit corridor was so close. He had a very small chance, but at this point he would take anything he could get.

Two meters.

He had just two more meters to go and he would be able to avoid some of the encroaching explosive force that was threatening to completely engulf him. He estimated that right now he had a fifty-fifty chance he would make it around the corner in time.

In those last seconds, thoughts of the people that had managed to become part of his life in the last two years flashed through his mind.

And, as he reached the short brick corridor which led to the exit, he thought perhaps the odds had started to tip towards his favor, but he was wrong.

Reese was just beginning to round the corner when the force of the blast caught up with him and picked him up, throwing him at the opposite wall.

Fleetingly, he felt the right side of his body brutally connect with the wall, followed by intense pain, and finally the heat from the fire.

And then he felt nothing at all.

**ooooooo**


	2. Wrong Time

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Two: Wrong Time**    

Reese opened his eyes, or at least he thought he did.

At first, he could see nothing but darkness, but after some indeterminate amount of time, he began to see flickers of light all around him. No, not flickers of light, but small wisps of flame licking at the pieces of rubble that were surrounding him.

With an effort, he tried to move and realized that not only was he in pain, but that there was some debris on top of him as well. The brief clarity the jump in adrenaline brought him allowed him to realize that one of the tendrils of flame was closer than he originally thought, and that it was slowly, painfully burning away at the sleeve of his overcoat and likely eating away at the layers beneath.

Suddenly, the pain increased exponentially, and Reese was certain that the fire had finished with his clothes as the first course of its meal and was now devouring his arm for the main meal. He’d had a healthy fear of burning to death ever since he’d seen several comrades-in-arms perish that way and wanted to avoid that fate if he could. Reaching deep, he used the adrenaline the fear was causing and channeled it into making his injured body respond.

With an effort he knew he wouldn’t be able to sustain, he pushed himself off the ground, trying and failing to ignore all the pain signals his body was broadcasting to his mind and dislodging the majority of the debris covering him. Immediately, he felt a difference in the temperature surrounding him and guessed that some of what had been on top of him had been on fire as well.

All John wanted to do right then was to just lie down and stop moving, to stop feeling pain that was leaking through despite his best efforts to block it, but he forced himself to keep going. Despite the increased discomfort, he sluggishly lifted his right hand and swatted at the small flame on his left forearm. Every movement caused him to hurt, but he managed to put the fire out. He wanted to check the damage, but knew that he needed to retreat from the premises as soon as he could get his body moving.

He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or even why he was wherever he was, but he remembered Mark saying that he was behind enemy lines and that he needed to be careful. Apparently, he hadn’t managed to be careful enough.

Somehow he made it up off the ground, the right side of his body and especially his head protesting loudly. Leaning against the wall, and taking slow, careful breaths, he forced himself to start moving towards the door, ignoring his body’s need to stop.

The exit door, which was only a few feet away, had been bowed outward by the blast before it had been forced open. He reached the exit, and forcing it to open up further, he stepped out into the night. After a couple of steps, he could tell the night was somehow wrong, but he didn’t have time to mull over that thought at the moment.

What he needed right now was to get away from the area and regroup with Mark and Kara. What happened with their package? Had they all been compromised?

But first things first, he needed to figure out where he was.

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've asked my friend, ncismom, to be my beta for this story. As a result, some errors in chapter one have been caught and fixed, and hopefully she'll keep me going in the right direction from now on. I highly recommend her NCIS stories, which are cataloged over on fanfiction.net. 
> 
> I realize that there may be some frustration with the length of this chapter, but I promise they will eventually get - and stay - longer.


	3. What is Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go out to my beta, ncismom. All remaining errors are obviously my fault.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Three: What is Wrong**     

The last thing he remembered before waking up in a burning building was meeting Peter at that bar and Kara intercepting him, which prevented him from seeing Jessica.

Oh God.

Had Kara been with him?

Reese started to turn back towards the building when he heard the sirens. All sounds were muffled due to the explosion, so if he could hear sirens, then the local authorities were too close.

He had to leave now or risk being caught; he couldn’t go through that again so soon.

Again?

Ignoring the thought that he’d been caught before by LEOs, when he knew he hadn’t so much as received a speeding ticket since he was a teenager, he made his way out into the somehow-wrong night.  

He quickly confirmed that he was in one of the warehouse districts in New York City. Why had he been out here? Had he been the one to deliver the package? Alone?  That didn’t seem right; Mark or Kara would’ve backed him up. What happened in that building? 

There were too many questions for a mind to answer, especially since he could barely keep his body upright.  God, his head was killing him. He used the arm that didn’t hurt quite as much to wipe away some sweat that was dripping into his eye, and ignored the blood he saw when he lowered his hand. He wiped it off on his ruined slacks and forced himself to move faster; taking care of his injuries now would only slow him down and get him caught.

Suddenly, he thought of the security cameras that he knew had to be around and hoped those closest to the blast would’ve gone offline. As he went deeper into the maze of buildings, he made sure he avoided being seen by the rest of the cameras. He had no way of knowing if he was still in danger from whoever had destroyed that warehouse.

Yet, the longer he tried to stay out of sight of the cameras’ eyes, the more he felt that they weren’t truly a danger to him. Realistically, there was no way to avoid being caught in any footage, but knew that though he would be seen, no one would see him. It didn’t make sense and yet his sluggish mind accepted it even though all his training was telling him the exact opposite.

So he compromised and let a camera catch a very small glimpse of him about twenty minutes after leaving the burning building behind him. With any luck, either Mark or Kara would be on the other end of that camera, and from the two fingers he’d flashed, would see that he was heading towards their secondary rendezvous point.

As he headed away from the warehouse district, he forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other while avoiding being detected. Reese again noted that the night was wrong; he just didn’t yet know how. A few minutes later, a light snow began to fall, mixed occasionally with some rain. He staggered as the realization hit him; he now recognized what was wrong.

Before he’d awakened in that warehouse, the night had been warmer than normal, above average for a November. Right now it was cold enough to snow, when only hours before he’d heard the meteorologist report that there was no rain or snow in the forecast. It was supposed to be in the mid-60s again tomorrow, another above average day. He knew meteorologists got the forecast wrong all the time, but this about face seemed impossible. Maybe it was some sort of freak storm?

He shook his throbbing head against that thought and instantly regretted the motion. Dizziness and nausea washed over him like a tidal wave, and suddenly he was helpless in its wake. His legs refused to hold him and he dropped down on his knees and retched, managing to light up every nerve ending with the action.

The edges of his vision were darkening despite the lights coming from the surrounding area. Finally he stopped vomiting up the contents of his stomach, and as much as he could with his damaged ribs, forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He wanted so badly to curl up right there and go to sleep – or die, whichever would take his misery away from him – but he couldn’t bring himself to stop now.

Every instinct was telling him he had to keep moving, and so he did. Despite how incongruous the weather was, he needed somewhere to wait out the cold, wet night, a shelter where it would be safe enough to let go for a while.

Eventually, he began to recognize his surroundings, realizing where he was in the City. More importantly, he recognized that he was heading towards a familiar building. He couldn’t remember right now how he knew it, but through the increasing fog in his mind, came the certainty that this was a place he could stop and be ‘safe’ for a time. It was a place where he could rest and regroup, perhaps tend to his injuries. Had he been heading there the whole time?

Knowing he was almost to his goal, he could feel what little energy he had draining away from his body. Using the building to help keep himself upright, he carefully entered through an almost-too-small hole in the east entryway of what had been a loading dock.

His head kept telling him that he’d never been here before, yet his body kept disagreeing and moving him towards a specific part of the building. The fact that he was moving through the area without much light to guide him seemed to prove that he was wrong about having been there before.

He began to notice that it was getting lighter outside and he knew the sun would rise soon. Even with the added light, the place he was heading towards looked like a simple brick wall. It wasn’t until he got much closer, within a couple of feet, that it became something more. He realized that it was an optical illusion; three walls had been made to look like one continuous wall.

He stepped around the middle section and, with the aid of the increasing light, discovered a long rectangular room which might have served as a storage area for the small offices he’d gone past. Instinctively, he turned left and headed toward a pile of trash. Leaning against the wall, he carefully lowered himself in a controlled fall to the ground. Searching the pile, he discovered a half-dozen bottles of water, several MREs with flavors he considered half-way edible, and a sealed plastic bag with pieces of a burner phone all hidden underneath the newspaper and other detritus.

Reese would swear he’d never been here before, and yet he knew that he was one who had stashed these items here. It was obviously one of his bolt-holes even though he couldn’t remember ever setting any up in this part of New York City. Despite the mystery before him, he had the feeling that he was safe for the time being.

With that thought, the darkness that had long been on the edge of his vision rushed in.

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the weather: a timeline I found online suggests the date that John ran into Peter Arndt at the bar was November 4, 2008 (1.15 'Blue Code'). I used that date and an almanac to determine the weather for that night, and then contrasted it with the weather a friend encountered in late March of this year (2013).


	4. Wrong to Worry

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Four: Wrong to Worry**    

Harold Finch listened to the sound of Reese’s feet pounding on the metal steps of the staircase he was rapidly descending, attempting to follow his progress via the architectural plans he’d downloaded.

Their Number was a young man who had been heavily in debt to a ruthless loan shark. Not able to repay the money, Mr. Gibson had been forced to get involved with the loan shark’s arson-for-insurance money scam.

Reese had been the one to put it all together, and had gone to persuade the young man to desist in his actions before he got himself killed. Traffic in the City had allowed Mr. Gibson to get about fifteen minutes ahead of Mr. Reese, who had expressed concern over the fact that Tony knew nothing about explosives. He was afraid that Mr. Mokarran, the loan shark, had no intention of letting their Number survive his mission to clear the debt.  The insurance premiums from the destruction of the warehouse would have more than made up for the loss of what Tony owed. 

From the number of steps he’d absent-mindedly counted in his head as he’d listened to Reese’s footfalls, Finch knew that his friend had approximately seven more steps to descend before he reached the lower level where John had decided the explosive device would be most effectively placed.

Suddenly, he heard a loud noise before the connection between he and Reese was abruptly cut off. Worried for John’s well-being, Harold immediately dialed Reese’s phone number. When he repeatedly failed to get through, even to voice mail, his worry skyrocketed.

His continued utterings for John to pick up after each attempt caused Bear to move from his dog bed to Harold’s side. Then, remembering how their communication had been severed when Max Duggan’s car had exploded in front of him, he forced himself to stop his current attempt and wait a few minutes before trying again.

Left hand repeatedly stroking the fur on Bear’s head in an attempt to calm himself, he said aloud, “It’s okay, Bear. Mr. Reese will be fine; you’ll see.”

When the dog uttered a brief whine in response, he admitted that he’d done a poor job of convincing himself as well.

Another minute later, he tried again; this time the call went straight to voicemail. Convinced that something must have happened to Reese, he conference-called Detectives Carter and Fusco.

Without any preamble, he said, “Detectives, I fear something may have happened to our mutual friend. I need you both to get down to the southern warehouse district as quickly as you can.”

On Carter’s end, he heard her stand and gathering her things, but it was Fusco who spoke first. “Hey Professor, I just got relieved from a stakeout and I’m not that far away. A bit ago I heard a call over the radio about an explosion. I’m assuming that was Mr. Happy?”

They could both clearly hear Carter’s sharp intake of breath when Fusco mentioned the explosion. Before the connection cut on her end, they heard a quiet but worry-filled, “On my way, Finch.”

“You are correct, Detective Fusco. Communication between us was severed by the blast and now that it’s back I still cannot reach him.  Please hurry.”

“Yeah, sure,” Fusco said in a subdued tone. “Going to put my lights and sirens on now, so I should be there in a few.”

Finch heard the sirens begin to blare as he said, “Thank you.”

“We’ll find him,” Fusco replied and hung up.

Harold was sitting in his chair, wishing he could do more to help John, when he was startled by Bear’s cold nose prodding his hand. He was briefly taken back to the time when the dog had first come to the Library.

Leaning forward slightly, he scratched behind the dog’s ears and repeated, “We’ll find him.”

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing for Fusco and Carter, so please let me know if I don't do their characters justice. 
> 
> Rejoice! You have just finished reading the last of the short chapters! ;o)


	5. Prove Me Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this will come as no surprise by the time you've finished reading the chapter, but I'm not an expert at anything related to fighting fire or investigating arson.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Five:  Prove Me Wrong**   

Sirens blaring, Detective Fusco drove as fast as was safe given the late night traffic in the City.  He was pretty certain his favorite menace would check in if he was able and wondered what might have happened to prevent him from doing so. Hopefully it was just another broken phone and not that anything had happened to the guy. 

While driving towards the scene, he at first thought the glow in the sky was the usual light pollution that the City produced even at that late hour, but once he got within a mile of his destination, he realized he was wrong and that it was the fire he’d heard about. As he got closer, he would never admit it to anyone, but he was getting more and more worried about what might have happened to his once-tormentor and now sort-of friend.

Parking behind a mass of seemingly haphazardly parked police vehicles, he stepped out of his car and started walking towards the chaos surrounding the burning warehouse. He couldn’t help the blasphemous expletive that escaped from his mouth when he saw the amount of destruction the explosion had caused.

If the Suit was in that building, then there was little to no hope for finding the guy alive, but he didn’t know how to tell Glasses that. In fact, he didn’t know if he should make the call at all or if Finch was listening in via his phone.

At first, he wasn’t happy being forced to get involved with these people, but now he had to admit that he liked it. Yeah, he was a cop and a detective, but eventually he had fallen into the trap that he should benefit from his job instead of remembering the fact that he’d joined the police force to help clean up the streets. Because of a tall, mysterious man in a suit with a penchant for the crazy, who had taken over and threatened his life, he’d managed to clean up his act.

He knew it would be hours before anyone could get into the building. The fire department wouldn’t allow anyone in while any part of the building was still smoldering. He hadn’t seen any ambulances or, for that matter, any coroner’s vans, but he needed to know for sure if any bodies had been found. Perhaps Reese hadn’t been caught in the explosion and was still alive; he’d seen the guy get out of worse situations with barely a scratch.

Seeing the Fire Captain, he went up to him, introduced himself, and asked what he knew so far.

“At this point, all we know for sure was that there was an explosion. Once we can enter the building safely, we’ll be able to determine the cause or if anyone was inside at the time.” The captain shrugged. “You know. The usual.”

“Yeah,” Fusco agreed. “Any evidence yet? Anything found along the perimeter?”

“No, nothing,” the captain replied, “but then again we really haven’t been looking. We’re more concerned with keeping the flames from spreading to the other warehouses in the area.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Got it.” As he walked away, he wondered again if the Professor had heard everything or if he was supposed to call in.

His ringing phone answered the question for him.

Without looking at the caller ID, he answered his phone, “Yeah.”

“Detective Fusco, I heard. When you can, please let me know if you find out anything new.”

“No problem, Professor.”

“Thank you,” was the only reply before the line was disconnected.

Lionel walked back to his car, not to escape the scene, but to keep out of the way of the fire suppression efforts. He knew the fire guys hated it when the LEOs tried to get in and investigate too soon.

Ten minutes later, Carter showed up.

The look on her face as she got out of her car was similar to the time when they’d been forced to leave Reese with a bomb vest strapped to his chest. He assumed that his face had a similar look on it.

“Any word yet?” she asked, her voice catching a little.

“Nope. You know the drill. They’re still putting out the blaze.”

“Right.” She shifted her gaze to the warehouse before asking, “Heard from Finch?”

“The Professor sounded…” Fusco trailed off and shrugged. “Well, you can imagine.”

She nodded her head. “Any theories yet?” she questioned, indicating the building ahead of them.

“Nah.” He waved a hand at the closest fire truck. “They’ve been more concerned with keeping the fire contained. As far as I know nothing and _no one_ has been found yet.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I can’t just stand here doing nothing. We should take a look around farther out. Maybe he got out of the building and is laying low somewhere. It’s possible, right?”

Fusco smirked and put his hands in his pockets. “Sure, it’s Wonder Boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t manage to save a stray cat on his way out.” Carter smiled slightly before turning towards their cars. He asked, “Your car or mine?”

“What?!” she exclaimed, rounding on him. “Shouldn’t we split up so we can cover more ground?”

“We might cover more ground, but then again we might miss something. It’s kind of hard to drive and look around at the same time. I don’t want to overlook anything.”

His partner took a deep breath and closed her eyes. As she let the breath out, she looked at Fusco and agreed, “You’re probably right. You drive.”

They got into his car and slowly drove around the outer perimeter before systematically working their way back towards the warehouse. The detectives hoped they would spot something, some sign that their mutual friend had survived.

As they continued to drive around, Lionel found it difficult to maintain any optimism, although he hadn’t been that optimistic to begin with. In the car, aside from the occasional call over the radio, silence reigned between them. He used his car’s spotlight, but hadn’t yet seen any sign. Carter apparently hadn’t either; her shoulders were tense as she craned her neck out the fully open window not caring that she was getting cold and wet.

As their sweep continued to be unsuccessful and they got ever closer to the warehouse, the hope of finding Reese continued to diminish. He reminded himself that Mr. Happy was an expert at remaining invisible and highly trained in evasion – they could have easily missed him. On the other hand, the guy could’ve already made it out of the area and without an injury; he hoped Glasses would’ve informed them by now if that were the case.

It’s just as possible that something had happened to the menace’s phone and he wanted to wait until he made it back to wherever his HQ was to check in. It was difficult knowing what Wonder Boy would do in this situation, and he really didn’t want to try and speculate. It was bad enough that he didn’t have to imagine some of the crazy crap he’d seen the taller man do.

While driving, he’d noticed multiple cameras in the area and wondered if the Professor was already going through the footage. He had no doubt that Mr. Happy’s boss could hack into those cameras and that sometime soon they might have a clue as to their missing friend’s whereabouts. 

They were just about to finish making a circuit around the buildings closest to the now smoldering warehouse. The structure had been mostly brick and concrete, so it hadn’t taken a lot of time to bring the fire under control. It was more about keeping other buildings from igniting than saving this one; he’d known that the place was a goner from the first second he’d arrived at the scene.

When they arrived back at the warehouse, Carter went to get an update from the fire chief, while he checked in with Finch.

“Yes, Detective Fusco,” Finch calmly said, and if Fusco didn’t any know better, then he’d think the guy could care less that his friend was missing.

“We took a drive along the perimeter to see if we could spot our mutual friend, but no luck. I did see a lot of security cameras. Maybe you could do whatever it is you do and find our guy.”

“Excellent idea, Detective,” was the terse reply before the line was unceremoniously disconnected.

Fusco pulled the phone from his ear and confirmed that the Professor had hung up on him. “You’re welcome,” he sarcastically said to the phone before shoving it back in his pocket.

Carter met back up with him a couple minutes later. “The only thing I got out of the Captain was that they are almost certain it was arson.”

“So where does that leave our guy?” he asked.

“No one’s seen anything so far. Part of the interior of the building collapsed so it will be awhile before they can get anywhere near the lower level,” Carter reported with a worried look on her face.

“Lower level? You mean this place had a basement?”

“Yep, and there used to be two levels above ground. It will take time to sift through all that debris.”

Fusco sighed. “He probably wasn’t in there,” he said, trying to reassure his partner, even though he didn’t believe it.

Carter looked away from him and delicately scratched under her nose. “Right,” she agreed with a brief nod of her head, though the tone of her voice gave away that she didn’t believe him either.

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta had a question about my use of the term 'light pollution'. So just to make sure we're all on the same page..... 'Light pollution' is excessive, misdirected, or obtrusive artificial light. In this case, I was referring to the form of light pollution known as 'sky glow' which refers to the glow effect that can be seen over populated areas. (Definitions from Wikipedia)


	6. Going Wrong

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Six:  Going Wrong**

Finch had been keeping a close ear on both of the detectives’ phones, but when the silences as they searched for signs of Reese got longer and longer, he muted the volume. To him, the silences meant the others were losing hope and he couldn’t afford to let that happen to him as well.

For a while, Bear had been indicating his need to go out, so Harold decided this was the perfect opportunity to take the dog out for a short walk, even though he didn’t really want leave the Library. The thought of leaving for any reason but to get John felt like giving up or worse, like failure. He ended up taking a break anyway; it wasn’t like Bear could let himself out.  More importantly, he knew that Reese was protective of them both and wouldn’t want them working themselves into the ground for his sake.

He grimaced slightly as he grabbed Bear’s leash off the table behind his desk, recognizing from the stiff muscles in his bad back that he needed a walk just as badly as the dog. They took a few minutes outside so that they could both stretch their legs and for the dog to do his business. Though still stressed out due to the uncertainty of Reese’s location and status, he knew that he’d made the right decision to take some time away and hopefully regain his focus.

Back at his computers, he was about to listen in on the detectives in order to determine what progress had been made, when he received a call from Detective Fusco. Though a genuinely useful and excellent idea, he became more and more infuriated with himself as he listened to the reformed detective. Of course, there were cameras; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of the idea before now. His worry for Mr. Reese must have compromised his ability to think cogently, something that hadn’t happened since just before his ‘accident’.

Instead of thanking the detective, Finch hung up and got to work securing the footage from all cameras in the area and to make sure no one but him would be able to look at the footage. It was not even remotely a challenge to hack into those systems. The first explosion had knocked the cameras out at the now decimated warehouse, while the second had led to their complete destruction. Cameras on the buildings immediately surrounding the building had been rendered similarly useless.

Most of them had eventually come back online, but there were a few here and there that didn’t, having been damaged by the heat, fire, or debris – it didn’t matter. The fact that remained that they didn’t have any eyes in the immediate area, so they didn’t know whether or not Reese had made it out of that warehouse alive or, assuming he had escaped the blast, what direction John had gone.

He wasn’t deterred; he would continue to check every possible camera in the area, hoping that just one of them had caught a glimpse of Reese. He hoped he would be proven right, but he also knew that if John didn’t want to be seen by prying electronic eyes, the younger man would not have been seen.

Back before they’d begun working together, it had taken a while for him to catch wind of Reese. If hadn’t have been for those young thugs on the subway, Finch realized it would have been even longer before he’d found the man and made contact. Perhaps it might have even been too late to stop him from drinking himself to death or thinking of another more immediate way to end his life.

He shuddered at the thought of how close he had come to missing out on this partnership and hoped that Reese was alive. His friend had been close to death several times, and each time it was a struggle to not show the other man just how much he cared or how responsible he felt for John. In spite of himself, they had become a sort of friends; not close, not yet, maybe not ever. But in working together to save people, they definitely had developed a mutual respect for each other.

It was a friendship based in the present with a potential future in continuing to save the Numbers. It was more than enough for him, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. He didn’t think he could stand to lose another friend.

He already knew that it would still be some time before anyone would be able to go into the warehouse and perhaps find some clue to Reese’s whereabouts, so he kept himself busy by watching footage from all the cameras surrounding the area. His process was fairly systematic, starting at the closest building s and then, finding nothing, he began to mirror Carter and Fusco’s earlier search pattern. After a while though, he decided to search the area sector by sector instead of the spiral pattern the detectives had used.

There!

Harold would swear that he’d just seen something. He replayed the last thirty seconds. There was definitely movement in the lower left hand of the screen. He watched for a third time and froze the footage on one image. There was a shadow that should not be there, and going frame by frame he could easily see it move through.

He made a copy of the footage and was attempting to enhance it even though he was sure it was Reese. From the shape of the shadow, he knew it wasn’t just a stray cat or dog moving past. It was definitely a human. He was positive; it was a human.

He called the detectives and informed them of his breakthrough. With so little concrete evidence, Finch could tell that they were both more than skeptical, but he didn’t care. He asked them to go check out the location while he continued to scan for more footage further on.

A few minutes later, he saw another shadow, but only the barest glimpse of one. Reese was definitely using all his training in an attempt to keep himself invisible. Was he trying the keep the ‘Man in the Suit’ out of the literal picture? Or perhaps he was somehow in danger? Finch had not seen any signs of any other perpetrators in the area, only law enforcement and fire fighters; so what was John trying to accomplish?

The detectives called in and said that they hadn’t seen anything that pointed to John having been where Finch had seen the first shadow. Harold could almost hear the pity in their voices, but he didn’t pay it any mind. He was certain that John was alive, so he directed them to the next location.

Several minutes later, he saw it. A hand. Just inside the frame of the camera. It was the majority of a hand with two fingers extended as if giving a peace sign. It was some sort of signal, but he had no idea what it meant. He was positive that it was John’s hand. Finch had seen those hands work at cleaning enough guns to know what they looked like. He hadn’t meant to memorize something so trivial, but his mind had always kind of picked up on details like that without his conscious awareness.

He called Carter and Fusco and let them know the newest location, while sending a photo of his evidence asking if either of them knew what it meant. The hand signal was something that they had not set up, and he was curious as to what it could mean. Perhaps it had something to do with the military and Detective Carter would know its meaning. They both sounded more hopeful and positive this time even though he could still hear the uncertainty surrounding his positive identification of the hand, citing that it could belong to a homeless person.

Nevertheless, he was certain the signal was deliberate. There had been nothing but shadows prior to this signal, it had to mean something.

While waiting for word from his detectives, he spent the time enhancing the image. Though the quality was bad, he was still positive it was John’s hand. Although now that he’d enhanced the image, he could see that there was something smeared at the base of one of John’s fingers. The image was black and white and the smear could be anything, but the sinking feeling in his gut kept telling him that it was blood. 

_What has happened to you John?_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said I wrote this and the next chapter while suffering from a migraine? 
> 
> Beta tested and mistakes author corrected, but lingering mistakes are likely...


	7. Something's Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not an expert on fire fighting or arson investigation...

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Seven: Something’s Wrong**

He was sitting on a bench that he recognized, but couldn’t place its location. The surrounding area seemed to be something like a park, but he wasn’t certain. He could see part of a familiar skyline in front of him and a bridge overhead, but place names eluded him.

When he looked to his left, there was no one there, but he felt like someone _should be_ there. Something on the bench seat caught his eye; it was a small bird. He didn’t know what kind it was, but it just sat there unafraid of him. His gut told him that the bird was significant in some way to him, but he didn’t know how or why. When the little bird suddenly flew away, John felt a sense of loss that he recognized and refused to accept. Reese made to follow the bird, but didn’t get past an attempt to stand before he crumbled to the cold, hard ground.

John abruptly woke and immediately wished he had remained unconscious. Every nerve ending seemed to have come awake at once, alerting him to all his aches and pains. It was nearly all he could think about; he hurt everywhere.

Due to the hazy wasteland of his mind, it took him several moments to realize that, when he had finally surrendered to oblivion, he had collapsed onto the more injured side of his body. Biting back a groan, he slowly and carefully levered himself onto his back, which secured a modicum of relief from his aches. In the process, he used up what little energy he had regained and, even though he was worried that he could be discovered at any time, he surrendered once more to the darkness. 

ooooooo

Dawn was finally approaching when the detectives reached the location where Finch had seen Reese’s hand on camera. It was one of the outer buildings, and would probably be the last time they would see any evidence of his passing through the immediate area. After these warehouses, there were too many directions Reese could go, so unless there was some sort of sign left behind, they would have no idea where to go looking next. It would be next to impossible to track him.

Finch had sent them both a screen capture of the glimpse of what could be John’s hand and the signal he’d flashed. She had no idea what the two fingers meant, and suspected the signal had come from his days as a CIA agent. It meant something to John, but she had no idea what and speculating about it was just wasting time best used to find their missing friend.

She and Fusco each went in a different direction, starting from the side of the building that had caught the image of the hand. At first, they saw nothing; there was no evidence, no trace that John had even been there. But that photo proved otherwise. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t really surprised they hadn’t find any other evidence as yet; the slight rain and snow of the previous night would have washed most, if not all, of it away.

Fusco brought her out of her thoughts by calling to her from the other end of the building from where she was standing. With a grim look on his face, he gestured for her to join him near the corner of the warehouse. When she caught up to where Fusco was standing, he raised his hand and pointed at the wall in front of them. It was a small red smear, and it would be a sucker’s bet to think it was anything other than blood and that it belonged to Reese.

It meant he was injured, but there was no way to know just how badly since she had the feeling they wouldn’t find any other trace. The smear of blood was at shoulder height and she guessed it was made by him mistakenly touching the side of the building. Unfortunately, the blood stain couldn’t tell them where Reese had gone or the severity of his injuries.

Carter caught herself thinking the worst and, despite the added grief, she didn’t want to know what it would be like without John in her life. If it wasn’t for him, her son Taylor would not be alive today, so she would always be grateful for him. She was certain that many other people would likely be dead or their lives ruined had John and Finch not been there to help. She liked being a part of their mission, even though it sometimes conflicted with her duty as a cop, and she knew Fusco liked being involved too, no matter how much or how often he complained.

Eventually, she noticed that Fusco hadn’t said a word since he’d called her over. If Finch was not actively monitoring their phones, then he wouldn’t know anything yet. Carter was hesitant to call and tell him the bad news, but from another perspective, it was also good news: they now knew that John had made it at least this far.

“Any word, Detectives?” the bespectacled man asked when he answered the phone on the first ring.

To her ear, even though she didn’t know him that well, the other man sounded worried.

“The rain didn’t help us out any, but we did find one thing.” On the other end of the line, Finch remained silent. “We found a small smear of blood on the side of the building, near the corner. It’s at shoulder height, but that doesn’t really tell us much. There’s just not enough to know where or how badly he’s injured.” She paused then added a defeated-sounding, “I’m sorry, Finch.”

Finch remained silent, but she would swear she could hear Bear’s dog tags jingle on the other end. The dog was smart, he probably knew something bad was going on and was trying to comfort his human.

The silence started to stretch on too long, and she tried to get his attention. “Finch?”

“Yes, Detective, I’m listening. Have you found anything else?”

“Nothing,” she answered, walking a few steps passed the corner. Taking in the increasing early morning light, she surveyed her surroundings. “From here he could’ve gone anywhere; taken any street, gone in any direction. There are some more abandoned buildings not too far away from here, but it would take a while to search them all.” Looking back towards Fusco, she continued, “Any ideas?”

“Why don’t you and Detective Fusco head home and get some rest, see your son. I will contact you if I come across any leads.”

“We can’t just give up on him, Finch!”

“Resting is not giving up, Detective Carter,” Finch countered with a hint of anger in his voice. “Right now the only thing that can be done is for me to continue searching for any more signs of Mr. Reese. That will take time. There is no point in the two of you aimlessly searching.” She could hear him sigh. “Go home to your son. Tell Detective Fusco thank you. I appreciate your help, and if I catch sight of him, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“You better,” she warned, then softened her tone. “If anyone can find him, Finch, it’ll be you.”

“Thank you, Detective,” he replied and cut the connection.

With the silence on the other end, she felt a sense of loss, not to mention the frustration she felt for not finding any other trace of John. If hadn’t been for the rain washing any other potential evidence away, then they might have already found him.

Carter told Fusco what their friend with the glasses said. Though her partner mumbled some curse words under his breath, a few of his jaw-popping yawns emphasized just how long it had been since either of them had last slept. Not wanting to give up so easily, they took one last look around the area before heading back to the warehouse and her car.

The building still seemed to be slightly smoldering, with firemen working to make sure all the hot spots were smothered. They spotted an investigator starting to pick his way around the perimeter of the building, and decided to see if there was any update yet. As they walked toward the guy, they watched as he stopped due to something obviously catching his eye. With a glance at the semi-blackened doorway, the investigator took half a step inside, picking something up off the ground before retreating outdoors. He was shaking some small debris off the obviously warped object, when she suddenly realized that it could be a phone.

Carter’s hand came up to her mouth and she whispered, “O God.”

Detective Fusco stormed past her, and when he realized she wasn’t following, turned back, grabbed her forearm, and tugged her along with him. She shook off the initial shock, and did her best to follow along, forcing an expression of indifference onto her face. Carter was certain that the melted mess in the investigator’s hand was John’s phone.

Fusco walked up to the investigator as he was labeling the evidence bag. “Is that what I think it is?”

The investigator held the bag with the distorted object out to them. The glass had cracked and the casing was warped and dented, but it had definitely been a phone. From its condition, Carter doubted anyone would be able to get any information from it.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the cell phone in the arson investigator’s hand. For it to be on that side of the doorway, it could only mean one thing.

John had definitely been in the building when it had exploded. 

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry for the teasing glance at what's going on with John, but I'm not. ;o) John will show up again soon. 
> 
> Kudos to my beta for catching my stupid mistakes. Anything left over is entirely my fault.


	8. Wrong Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some additional changes after my beta read this chapter. My guess is that there are some lingering mistakes as a result.

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Eight:  Wrong Thoughts**     

Eavesdropping on the detectives’ conversation with the arson investigator had kept Finch updated on their latest piece of evidence. Reese’s cell phone had been found in the rubble near the entrance to the now-destroyed warehouse. The implications of that find made his stomach sink into the seat of his computer chair.

He was convinced that Reese was injured worse than what had been indicated by the little smear of blood the detectives had found. Harold needed to find his friend and had to do it soon. If it hadn’t been for the rain and snow the previous night, he would’ve taken Bear out to try and track him down. He would try anyway if he could find any more recent indications of John’s current location.

Overall, New York City probably had one of the greatest concentrations of cameras of any city in the world. John was good at remaining hidden, but Harold was confident he would find some footage of his friend. Unfortunately, it would take time he felt he didn’t have to sift through the immense amounts of footage, not to mention getting a hold of it in the first place. Despite all the strikes against this endeavor, along with the fear that he would be too late to help John, Finch kept looking for that one shred of evidence that would point the way towards the injured man.

All the hacking into so many different systems reminded him of his college days, and it felt good even if the overall circumstances were not the best. He came across too many cameras that did not store their recordings online or a camera that was malfunctioning in some way. Every time that happened, he worried that those cameras might have been the ones to catch a glimpse of Reese. The more it happened, the more frustrated he became at the process.

Nathan had been mostly correct when he’d once proclaimed that Finch always had two layers to everything he did; actually, many times necessity dictated that there were more than two. What disturbed him most was that, in this instance, he didn’t have two or more layers of strategies; he was currently only attacking the problem on one front and needed to reformulate his strategy. He couldn’t do this alone and needed to get the detectives back out on the streets searching for a lead. But first there needed to be a lead to follow up.

Harold hoped that there wouldn’t be a new Number today as he felt it would cause a conflict of interest for him, especially after everything he and Reese had been through together. Finch was devoted to helping the Numbers, but he had learned to depend on John’s help. Forced to make a choice, he would choose Reese, and not just because the other man was injured. He was not only physically incapable of handling most of the Numbers on his own, but Finch was used to the taller man’s presence in his life and unwilling to let down another friend. If necessary, he could put one or both of the detectives on the job, but he would prefer that they concentrate on finding Reese.

Finch mentally shrugged at the fleeting thought that he was trying to borrow trouble. He needed to refocus and formulate alternative plans for finding his missing comrade, deciding he’d deal with the problem when, _or if,_ the issue arose. Once the detectives got some sleep, they would be looking to him for guidance on continuing their search. They couldn’t put out a BOLO and random drives through random neighborhoods would most likely be a waste of time. He needed to use what he knew about Reese’s skills and past experiences. Compromised and injured; what would someone like him do?

As he continued looking for recordings, hoping against hope that there would be another glimpse, part of his mind continued to consider how Reese would react in this situation. Harold couldn’t know how or if John’s ability to make decisions was being effected by his injuries. It was just as likely that they wouldn’t affect him at all; he could be acting on automatic, doing what instinct and years of job training that had taught him to do.

After some time, he was frustrated enough by his lack of success and progress that he needed to step back from his computers for a minute before he did something he would regret to them. Finch started walking back and forth down the hallway to loosen up his muscles, knowing if he didn’t he would suffer from painful spasms at some point in the near future. He knew he needed to take a real break and get some sleep, but he just couldn’t let himself while Reese was out there alone, waiting to be found.

At one point during his back and forth wandering, Bear tired of watching him and began trotting along behind. Around mid-point of his seventh circuit, his neck muscles cramped, causing him to stumble and inadvertently step on one of Bear’s paws. Harold grabbed his neck and started massaging the kink out as the dog let out a yelp and retreated a few steps backward out of the way.

“I am so sorry, Bear,” he paused and rotated his head as far as his neck would allow. “Perhaps you should retreat…” Inspiration hit at that moment, and he started back towards his computers, pushing away any discomfort he was feeling.

He made a detour towards the container that held Bear’s treats and pulled out a couple of them. They met each other half-way, and as the dog ate his well-deserved treats, Harold praised, “Good dog, Bear. Excellent idea.”

Reese must have retreated to some sort of bolt-hole, a place to go if things went wrong and he felt it wasn’t safe to return to the Library. Finch quickly checked John’s apartment for signs the younger man had been there, but knew he wouldn’t find any, realizing that the bolt-hole would be somewhere that was unknown to him. What he didn’t understand was why his friend was choosing to literally remain out in the cold.

Maybe it wasn’t a conscious choice and he was being pursued or was too injured to make it back to the Library. Without a phone, there was no way to ask for help, but there were other ways to get in touch, as Reese had done by flashing that mysterious hand-signal. Whatever the case, John was out there alone, and he had the feeling that time was of the essence in finding him. But, as a precaution, Finch set up notifications in all the medical facilities in the five boroughs to alert him of any John Does matching Reese’s description.

Now that he had the idea that Reese would find a place to retreat to, Finch began looking for potential locations of his friend’s hideout. He tried to think of locations an ex-soldier and an ex-CIA agent might consider tactically defensible or simply innocuous enough that he could remain off the radar for days at a time. Focusing on the area stretching out two miles from their last sighting of John, he began to search for and make a list of dwellings that had little to no security, as well as places that wouldn’t care enough to remember an injured or disheveled man and all abandoned structures. 

He compiled a pretty comprehensive list, but held off on contacting Carter and Fusco. It was still early, and even though he was nearly desperate to find his friend, he wanted to wait at least another hour so the detectives would be able to get a semi-decent amount of rest before resuming their search.

His mind was fuzzy with the need for sleep, but he resumed searching for recordings that may have caught a glimpse of Reese. He felt like he was on the right track with his list, but recognized that there were still a lot of possibilities to check out, even as he considered extending the search radius by another mile.

Twelve minutes later, after the third time he’d mistaken an anomaly in the footage he was watching for his missing friend, Finch knew he needed to finally yield to his body’s demands for sleep. He set his computer to wake him a few minutes prior to when he had planned to call the detectives, then checked to make sure his alerts on the medical facilities hadn’t been tripped. Finally, Harold arranged his damaged body into a position it could tolerate, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Worry for John was his last conscious thought before Hypnos and Morpheus teamed up to carry him away for a time.

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Greek mythology, Hynpos was the god/personification of sleep, while Morpheus was the god/personification of dreams


	9. Suffer Wrong

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Nine:  Suffer Wrong**  

Reese slowly opened his eyes then blinked several times, trying to bring his world into focus. In the dim light, the shapes above him eventually resolved into a couple of broken, overhead fluorescent light fixtures. It took him a long moment to process what he was seeing and compare it to his memories, but after a while he mostly remembered where he was, even if he was a bit fuzzy on the details of how he’d come to be there.

It was cold and he had to suppress an urge to shiver, wanting to keep himself as still as possible while he assessed his aches and pains. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d left the warehouse, but if he wanted to make his rendezvous with Kara and Mark, he needed to determine his physical limitations. John’s body was one giant bruising ache, but he forced himself to concentrate on differentiating the levels of pain as he catalogued his injuries. 

Moving various parts of his body by small degrees, he determined that his right hip, several of his ribs, and right shoulder were going to be a problem in terms of mobility. But his main concern and obstacle was going to be his head and what was likely a severe concussion if the acute headache, disturbances in his vision, and inability to clearly remember the previous 24 hours or so were anything to go by. He had a feeling that the first time he moved his head up off the ground, that dizziness and nausea were just waiting their turn to make his day brighter. His ability to push past and ignore pain was going to get a workout today.

Ever so carefully, he started to raise himself up off the cold concrete then stopped, resting his weight on shaky elbows, his shoulder loudly protesting. Only slightly behind schedule came the dizziness and nausea that he’d been expecting. Slow, steady breaths helped to partially alleviate the symptoms, enough so that he wouldn’t be vomiting in the immediate future. He pushed himself further up off the ground and backward towards the wall beside him. Finding a position that his body could tolerate, Reese relaxed as much as he could. He needed to get moving, but he also knew that if he didn’t do this in stages, he risked doing himself more damage.

Realizing he was thirsty, he grabbed one of the bottles of water he noticed as he’d sat up. Twisting the cap off, he said a quick prayer and attempted a tiny sip of the cool liquid. To distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as he continued to take small sips of water, he returned to the problem of how he knew this place existed and had apparently stashed provisions in it, when he couldn’t remember ever stepping foot in the building.

It didn’t make any sense; the last time he’d been to New York, he’d stashed some money and fake IDs in a cemetery. He had no recollection of setting this place up, yet he’d somehow managed to drag himself here. His memory of the previous night was spotty, but he did recall going to the bar, meeting Jessica’s husband, Kara intercepting him, and taking an assignment to get rid of a sexual predator.

Sexual predator? Wait. No. That wasn’t right.

Last night, he and the others had been awaiting orders of what to do with the traitor that was cooling his heels in their bathroom. Unless the perpetrator was also a terrorist, since when did CIA agents deal with lowlife scumbags who preyed on women?

Reese tried to remember more details of that unusual assignment, but the only images that came to mind were a lot of lye and a house by the water. Unfortunately, those memories cost him; he now had a jackhammer going off in his head alongside the marching band that had already taken up residence since he’d first opened his eyes. The nausea he’d been battling returned, forcing him to drop the subject for the present and concentrate on not redecorating the room with the meager contents of his stomach.

With enough stubbornness and willpower plus some time spent steadily breathing in and out, while ignoring the added strain on his fractured ribs, he got his rebellious stomach under control once more. Giving himself a few more minutes to be on the safe side, he used the walls to help pick himself up off the ground and rearrange his body into a position that he would call ‘standing,’ but most others would call ‘barely upright.’

It didn’t take long for his body to veto the new position, and before he could realize what had occurred, he was crumpled up on the ground wishing for an escape from the situation. Standing was obviously a bad idea if his near descent into unconsciousness was any indication; evidently he needed a little more time to recover. It took a lot of effort for him to push the pain back behind the wall in his mind. The wall was cracked, worn about the edges, and wouldn’t hold for long, but hopefully it would last just long enough to reunite him with his friend.

It took some time to regain control, but eventually he did and resettled himself into an endurable slumped-over position. John considered his predicament; he was beginning to doubt he would be able to make his rendezvous at all, let alone make it on time. He needed help, but had no way to call for back-up. Or did he?

Reese reached for the plastic bag containing the pieces of the phone that he had stashed with the rest of the supplies. All the pieces seemed to be there, so assuming he would be able to put it back together, would the battery still be viable?

After several fumbled attempts, John finally managed to reassemble the cell phone pieces. It was more advanced than the one he’d had the night before, and had taken some abuse, but hopefully it would still easy to use. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping it would bring the phone into better focus. When it didn’t become any clearer, he pushed a likely button and hoped that he’d guessed right. Light flared, illuminating the screen and causing his headache to spike. Squinting at the brightness, he waited for the phone to initialize then checked its contents.

The only thing not standard to the phone was one unidentified number in the contact list. Knowing he wouldn’t have left himself a phone with a useless number, he decided to take his chances and hit _send_. It rang several times before there was the standard beep that signaled a caller to leave a message.

In the back of his mind he had sort of been expecting that, but shocked that he’d been right, he paused for a time before reflexively ending the call. Something told him it wasn’t Kara, Mark, or the CIA on the other end of that line, but he had no idea who was actually there.

Reese shivered then groaned at the flare of pain in his injured shoulder and ribs. It was getting more and more difficult to keep the pain at bay given how exhausted he felt. With another shiver, an image suddenly flashed through his mind of a homeless woman advising someone in a suit to stuff newspaper under their clothes in order to keep warm. It was a good idea, though when he’d ever been in that situation refused to come to mind, but he just didn’t have the energy to follow through.

He was fading, having a difficult time staying awake.  Maybe if he rested a while, he could try moving on from this place in a couple of hours. His only other option was to leave a message at that unknown number.

Carefully, he lifted his hand and tried rubbing some of the fatigue out of his eyes, but it didn’t help and only encouraged them to stay closed longer and longer every time he blinked. It popped into his mind that he should take the battery out of the phone, but when he started to do so, he stopped and left it in. Despite the security risk it presented in being tracked, it inexplicably filled him with a sense of ease to have a working cell phone in his hand.

With a tight grip on the phone, John closed his eyes.

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To reflect John's memory problems, I made some very deliberate word choices in this chapter which may seem like errors. Hopefully they didn't detract from the story.
> 
> The bag with the pieces of a burner phone was first mentioned in chapter three.


	10. Might Be Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cliffhanger ahead.

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Ten: Might Be Wrong**    

The incessant beeping was starting to really infuriate him.

He was enjoying the mild weather while watching Grace paint the flora and fauna of Central Park’s Shakespeare Garden. From time to time, he would read passages selected from amongst the Bard’s works to help enhance the ambiance surrounding them. The setting was peaceful, the scenery, especially Grace, was beautiful, and he would be happy to spend forever here with the woman he loved if it weren’t for the irritating noises that kept interrupting.

It sounded like it was coming from close by, but a quick check confirmed that it wasn’t coming from either of their phones. Finch started to hand Grace her phone back, but she and all her art supplies had disappeared, and in the next second he found himself in the shell of a burnt out warehouse. Looking down at the phone in his hand, he discovered that it was now a melted mess of plastic and cracked glass.

He recognized where he was and whose cell phone he was holding. In panic, he called out, “John!”

Finch jolted awake with a gasp and suppressed a groan at the pain and stiffness he felt in his back and especially his neck. He felt a weight settle against his leg, and looked down at Bear even as he realized the beeping was back.

“Just a dream, Bear,” Harold said as he scratched behind one of the dog’s ears, while massaging the back of his neck with his other hand.

Once more in control of his breathing, he pulled himself away from the moment of mutual comfort and concentrated on what was causing the infernal sound.

Given the accompanying data, it was an alert he’d set up quite a while ago, for a cell phone number he had flagged as being one of the many that John had bought since they’d started working together. Finch had made it a habit to keep a GPS lock on all of Reese’s phones in case his friend ever needed help sent to him. He had thought it had been destroyed during one of their more lively cases, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Another dialogue box popped up just as he was about to trace the phone’s current location. It was an alert for the emergency back-up number they used in order to leave messages to each other when other means of communication were compromised. The timestamps for the two alerts were barely a minute apart. If he’d needed any convincing before this, he wouldn’t need it now. It was Reese trying to communicate with him.

As quickly as he could, he retrieved the voice message, concerned that it was barely seven seconds long. When he played the message, his worry for his friend ratcheted ever higher. The only things he heard on the recording were a gasp of surprise followed by a couple of seconds of pained breathing before the message suddenly ended.

He keyed in the command to track the phone’s location, hoping it was still active. The scenarios his mind had quickly come up with to explain the surprised gasp did not fill him with confidence. A map of the City materialized on his main monitor with a flashing red dot to indicate the phone’s location to within 100 meters, if not John’s actual whereabouts.

Harold stood and limped towards the coat rack. While putting on his overcoat, another alert sounded. From the time on his watch, he realized that it was the alarm he’d set as a reminder to call the Detectives. He deactivated the alert and briefly hesitated, trying to decide if he wanted to ask Carter and Fusco for help in retrieving Reese.

His hesitation quickly turned to action as he grabbed Bear’s leash. Reese barely tolerated even his help when injured, therefore Carter and Fusco’s presence on scene would probably not be welcomed. Finch decided that he would call the others only if absolutely necessary.

He was well aware of the folly in going alone. A stationary signal did not mean that John was still at that location. Anything could’ve happened in the few minutes since that message had been left; he could be walking in to danger.

On the other hand, Reese could be moments away from permanent injury or death. He had to go; in his mind there was no other choice. To mitigate some of the potential risk, he was taking Bear along for protection as well as for the dog’s ability to track. Hide-and-seek had turned into one of John’s favorite activities with their four-legged friend. It had also turned out to be a fun-based method of training for Bear. Despite his initial protests, he’d even participated multiple times once Reese explained that it might come in useful sometime in the future if either of them had gone missing and technology failed to help them.

It seemed that future was now.

ooooooo

The amount of traffic on the streets as he drove towards Reese’s last known location almost prompted him call the Detectives, since they weren’t quite as far away from him, but he held fast to his decision to go alone – or as alone as one could be with a 65 pound dog in the back seat of a car.

In his mind, he was taking far, far too long to get to his friend. Due to an accident on one of the major roads, it had been well over an hour since he’d received those alerts on his computer. What if something had happened to John in the meantime?

Finally he reached his target designation. Checking the app on his phone, he noted that there had been no movement since he’d first tracked the location of the cell phone Reese had used. Finch hoped that somewhere in the surrounding 100 meters, he would find his friend.

He exited the car with Bear’s leash in hand, looking up at the abandoned red brick building he’d parked alongside. It made up for the majority of the 100 meters, and from what he knew about Reese, this seemed the most logical hide-out for the ex-operative.

A cold breeze kicked up as he walked around the front of the car. Without warning, Bear started straining on his leash, practically dragging him forward towards the building. Trusting that the animal had caught Reese’s scent, he quickly limped towards what seemed to be a side door of the rundown structure. Once they got a few steps inside, he gave the seek command, and let go of the leash.

Nose to the ground for a few seconds, the dog’s head suddenly reared up and then Bear was making a beeline towards an opposite interior wall before disappearing around what seemed to be a clever architectural optical illusion. Reaching the wall, he stepped around it and peered into the dimly lit, rectangular room. His eyes weren’t quite adjusted to the low light yet, but he knew one thing for certain.

John wasn’t there.

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how effective 'hide-and-seek' is as a training method, but I used to play the game with my dog (a spaniel) and she loved it.


	11. Just Plain Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I warn you about cliffhangers?

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Eleven: Just Plain Wrong**   

This time when he awoke, John had the fading image in his head of him pleading with a CCTV camera on a light pole about some sort of contingency. Despite the lingering mix of emotions he felt, he immediately dismissed the crazy thought as confusion resulting from his concussion.

Using a beam of light coming in on the other end of the room as a focus point, he slowly but steadily eased himself into a standing position. His body was loudly protesting and threatening to shut down, but he forced his mind to disregard those signals. Unfortunately, while in the process of standing, he dropped the cell phone. He knew if he tried to bend over and pick it up, that he would go down, and would not be able to make it back up again.

John was tempted to go for it anyway as he almost couldn’t stand the thought of leaving it behind. The sense of loss he felt was almost enough to stop him from going on. But he knew if he didn’t go on, then Mark and Kara would leave him behind and he’d most likely have a black bag over the head to look forward to in the future.

Regret and loss weighed heavily in his heart as he left the cell phone behind. Using every available surface as support to help him keep upright, he shuffled and stumbled his way to the room’s entrance and out to the main room.

His training and experience out in the field was telling him to exit out a different door than he’d entered, but the distance seemed incredibly daunting. He steeled himself and let go of the wall that was helping him stay standing. When he didn’t immediately collapse to the ground, he was thankful for the small miracle.

He managed to come up with the direction he should travel from his Swiss-cheese memory of the place. He slowly and carefully headed that way, using distant walls as focus points, goals to keep his mind off of his physical limitations. As he got closer to his current goal of a corner he needed to turn, he began to get a weird feeling of déjà vu, though he was unsure of its source.

He was about to turn the corner that had seemingly taken him forever to reach, when he had to stop for a moment. Leaning against the wall, he fought the panic that was threatening to take hold. It finally occurred to him that he knew the source of his déjà vu, but reminded himself that there was no reason that _this_ building would explode. He supposed the fact that he could remember a time closer to the explosion was a good thing, but decided he really could care less at this point, since he didn’t know why he’d been there in the first place.

He used the corridor walls for support and finally reached the door, but it would not open. He tried again, but it seemed to be blocked and not necessarily locked. With no strength left to try and force it open, assuming it could be opened, he wasn’t left with many options. Given his condition, he thought it would be best to head back towards his hide-out because at least there were provisions he could survive on for a time. The only problem with that plan as that he wasn’t sure he could make it back there.

Because he couldn’t bring himself to give up and quit just yet, Reese tried anyway. After a few steps though, he stumbled and fell to his knees, just barely catching himself on the wall which prevented him from face-planting on the concrete ground.  Attempting to get up was impossible; instead, he eased his body to sit against the wall. All his injuries were competing to determine which one was the biggest pain. Even though he was the perfect judge for such an event, he still couldn’t decide the winner. With a slight smirk on his face at the insanity of the idea, he declared the competition a draw even though it did nothing to diminish his hurts.

It wasn’t long before he heard a door on the opposite side of the building open. Listening carefully, he couldn’t be sure how many people had entered but he thought that there was at least one person and a…dog?  He heard the man issue a command in Dutch along with his name. They were seeking him and it was only a matter of time before they caught up to him. Helpless to do anything about being found, he pushed down the sense of failure he felt and surrendered himself to his fate, waiting calmly for the dog to track him down. 

 

ooooooo

 

Harold was dismayed at the sight of the room before him; he had really and truly thought he would find Reese here. He watched as Bear continued to nose around their surroundings, concentrating on one particular part of the room.

The dog’s nose nudged an object that was lying on the ground by the far wall, then sat down and looked back at him. Finch walked over to Bear and carefully bent over to retrieve what had been found. He sighed. Without the phone, he would have a difficult time tracking his friend down if the Shepherd couldn’t pick up a trail.

He inspected the phone in his hand. There was a small crack in the screen, evidence of its having been abused at an earlier date, but with a push of a button, he determined that it still had battery power. The most logical supposition was that the phone had unintentionally been left behind.

Finch gave the seek command to Bear once more and watched as the dog sniffed at the ground. It was obvious the scent was caught when Bear rushed out of the room. Harold followed the best he could, but he was no match for a Belgian Malinois on a mission.

He was barely half-way across the main room when he saw the dog go around a corner. A few seconds later, he heard what he liked in the privacy of his own mind to call the ‘Gotcha!’ bark. It was Bear’s signal to his handlers that he’d found what, or who, he had been seeking.

Hope rising, he walked at a faster pace until he was practically running across the large room. Rounding the corner, he stopped, shocked at the sight before him.

Bear was sitting ramrod straight at Reese’s feet, staring at an obviously injured John, while John, with his arms crossed carefully over his abdomen, had stopped just shy of staring right back at Bear. If Finch didn’t know better, he would have almost said that Reese thought he was in danger from his own dog and was avoiding making any moves that would be considered aggressive.

As quietly as he was able, Harold started towards John, not wanting to disturb the highly unusual reunion. Once Bear noticed him coming near, he whined a little and lay down alongside John’s legs with his head coming to a rest on his friend’s left thigh, which upon first glance, appeared to be one of the only places Reese wasn’t injured.

His friend seemed to be surprised and a little confused at Bear’s actions, and maintained as much distance as was possible. Frankly, the whole scene was bothering him more than he would dare to admit, but it helped Finch to finally find his voice.

As he traversed the final few meters, he said, “Mr. Reese, thank God we found you. I didn’t want—.”

“You were on the other end of that phone number,” John interrupted, his voice sounding rough.

“I beg your pardon,” Harold replied to the non sequitur.Reese looked fully at him and repeated, “You are the one who monitors the phone number I called.”

Finch was taken back by the statement as well as the wary yet resigned expression on John’s face. Something was definitely wrong here. He used the wall to help lower his fatigued body down to one knee. “Yes, of course, Mr. Reese. Who else—?”

He was interrupted once again by a shake of John’s head, an action which seemed to cause him discomfort, if the hand to the forehead and the closed eyes were any indication. Bear let out a low whimper and crawled forward a few inches so that he could try to force his muzzle under Reese’s other arm.

His injured friend ignored Bear’s attempts to comfort him, which was another sign that something major was wrong. With a voice that sounded rougher than it had before, Reese lowered his arm back down as he quietly said, “Doesn’t matter. Just get it over with.”

“Mr. Reese – John – I don’t understand. Get what over with?”

Confusion returned to John’s expression with perhaps a little contempt thrown in for good measure. “I didn’t make the rendezvous with Mark and Kara, and my mission literally got blown six ways to Sunday. I’m to be retired, right?”

Finch’s heart dropped into his stomach at the mention of Kara Stanton’s name. They’d both almost lost their lives to that woman and that damned bomb vest, not to mention Reese having already been shot twice because of Mark Snow. Suddenly, it dawned on him what Reese had been hinting at this whole time, and it explained the younger man’s reactions. The implication of that realization almost took his breath away.

“John…” Harold paused, unsure he wanted to continue. If he was right, then things were much worse and much more complicated than he had imagined upon first entering the building. “John, do you know who I am?”

“No,” Reese replied as several expressions quickly flickered over his face, finally settling into a suspicious glare. “Should I?”

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a wee bit of tinkering on this chapter after my beta read it, therefore all remaining mistakes are my fault.


	12. Right From Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the awesome ncismom, but since I tinkered with it afterwards, remaining mistakes are highly probable.

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Twelve:  Right From Wrong**   

Finch knew he had to be careful how he answered Reese. Even wounded, John was an incredibly dangerous man.

He took a steadying breath and noted that Bear seemed unsettled by the fact that one of his humans was treating him so differently than what was normal. Perhaps the dog’s actions would serve as a kind of proof of what he was about to say.

“I know you have absolutely no reason to believe anything I say, but I would hope that you will at least listen.” Finch paused. He hadn’t missed the assessing looks that his injured friend had given him and Bear, and hoped they would pass this initial test. The slight rise of one of Reese’s eyebrows was the only response; he decided to take it as a sign to continue.

“You and I have been working together for nearly a year and a half, helping to stop crimes planned out in advance. We don’t work for the government, but are what you might call ‘concerned third parties.’ Starting out, we never know if the other person is going to be a victim or a perpetrator.”

While he had been speaking, he’d watched as John had finally given in – consciously or not – and had barely moved one of his hands to begin scratching behind one of Bear’s ears. It was a good sign, but he wouldn’t take it for granted.

“Last night you were attempting to prevent our latest Number from getting himself killed while trying to pay off a large debt to a loan shark. That was how you came to be injured. Mr. Gibson was sent to destroy the loan shark’s warehouse for the insurance money, but instead blew himself up or perhaps the bomb was triggered early – I’m not quite sure which.” He shrugged and shifted a little to ease the building discomfort from his continued crouched position. Reese’s hand stilled and he briefly tensed at Finch’s movements, but after a few moments he relaxed enough to continue scratching the dog’s ear.

Harold continued on as if the minor incident had not happened. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know you were in the building when it exploded. I, and a couple of our associates, have been trying to find you ever since, but you did not make it easy for us. Based on your actions and your reaction to us,” he gestured at himself and Bear, “I believe that you are suffering from partial amnesia. I realize that much of this sounds completely far-fetched, but Mr. Reese, I assure you that I would not lie to you.”

At the conclusion of his basic explanation, Reese had broken eye contact, and turned towards the dog. With a surprised look on his face, the other man realized what he’d been doing and stopped petting Bear, snatching his hand away as if it had been burned. John then schooled his features and closing his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall.

Harold wasn’t sure what to think. For someone like Reese to close his eyes around a stranger and potential threat, it had to mean something. Whether that reason was his injuries overwhelming him, believing Finch, or some other rationale, it was difficult to tell.

Despite the slightly wheezy quality to John’s breathing, and no matter how badly he wanted to get his friend to a doctor, he wouldn’t force the situation. The choice had to be Reese’s.

 

ooooooo

 

John closed his eyes – something he wouldn’t normally do around a virtual stranger. His mind was obviously more messed up than he’d originally thought.

What he’d been told was definitely far-fetched, yet his increasingly hazy mind told him that this man was telling the truth. The strange man’s words seemed vaguely familiar to him, but it was obvious that there was so much more to the story. But, at the same time, it could explain the weird flashes and odd, out-of-place memories he had been having. How much of his memory had the amnesia taken away from him?

If indeed Mr. Glasses was someone he worked with, then the other man was likely there to help him. Evidence that Reese had at least met the mysterious stranger before was practically in his lap; highly trained dogs just couldn’t fake this level of familiarity or concern with a human it didn’t know. 

A Belgian Malinois had been attached to his unit in Tikrit, and he had admired the capabilities of the magnificent animals. On the whole, they didn’t react this way with total strangers and were this friendly only with their handlers, those they considered to be part of their pack. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to touch a professionally trained dog he wasn’t previously acquainted with, but he couldn’t seem to help himself and the dog obviously didn’t seem to mind.

Reese knew that, on some level, he already trusted the one who had come for him. But, as much as he was desperate for sleep and pain relief, he wasn’t quite ready to completely give in. He needed more information before he could make a final decision.

John opened his eyes and turned his head towards Glasses. “Name?” he inquired, his voice raspy from disuse and exhaustion.

“What?” the other said, leaning in a little as if to hear Reese’s response better.

“You didn’t give me…your name.” The words caught in his throat, which caused him to cough, spreading a torrent of pain through his upper torso.

By the time John had somewhat recovered, the stranger’s hand was hovering near his uninjured shoulder as if he’d considered touching him, but had obviously thought better of the movement. It was a good call, since he wasn’t sure what his reaction would have been. At this point, in all likelihood, it would’ve ended badly for the both of them.

“My name?” Glasses reiterated the hanging question. “You can call me Mr. Finch.”

Suddenly, it seemed as if the ground was rushing up towards him at warp speed. He gasped and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Then, trying to regain his balance, he thrust his hands to the ground on either side of his body. The hasty movements caused him to groan in discomfort as flashes from his recent dream assaulted his mind.

He could see the dream as it was – the park bench, the bridge, the familiar skyline. Most importantly, he saw the bird next to him on the park bench, and was once again experiencing the loss he’d felt when it had flown away. John now realized that the bird in the dream had represented Finch, and hearing that name was like finding a missing piece of himself, even if he didn’t know where that piece belonged quite yet.

As the images faded, he could hear Finch calling his name.

“—eese? Can you hear me? John?” It was obvious that the stranger – Finch – was worried about him. Feeling the dog trying to bury its head underneath his arm, he opened his eyes.

It was a big mistake; his bout with vertigo had ramped up many of his symptoms and he could feel the bile rising as a result. Even though he knew it would hurt, he turned away from Finch and towards his injured right side, losing the meager contents of his stomach.

His damaged arm, which had barely been holding the rest of him up off the ground, gave way and his body started tipping over. John would’ve ended up in the vile mess his stomach had produced were it not for the hands that grabbed him.

Ordinarily, instinct would have had him struggling to get away from the one that had grabbed him, but he simply couldn’t. Drained, he sagged back into the arms, remembering in a flash another time when Finch had held him upright after he’d been wounded. He could hear the other man speaking, but couldn’t quite latch on to most of the words. It didn’t matter much anymore; no doubts remained in his mind about whether or not he should trust the one who had come for him.

Risking the consequences, he opened his eyes and looked at Finch. Ignoring the nasty taste in his mouth, he interrupted the other man’s speech.

“Finch, if we don’t…don’t move now, pretty s-soon I won’t be mo-moving at all,” he declared, slurring his words.

The other man’s eyes widened then he nodded once. “Yes, I see.” Finch agreed, shifting his stance in preparation to help get Reese up off the cold concrete. “I’m not sure I can do this on my own, but if you could perhaps help a little…”

Reese signaled his acceptance by holding out an arm for Finch to grab. Knowing that he still needed to make it outside, where he presumed some form of transportation was waiting, he tried to tap into whatever reserves he had left, hoping that it would be enough. He honestly didn’t know how they had managed, but somehow they did, and he was standing upright again.

They must have made a pretty peculiar trio, with the dog taking point ready to defend the two limping men, one of which could probably be taken out if someone breathed on him wrong. John had no earthly idea how long it took the three of them to make it outside, and he didn’t particularly care.

By the time he saw Finch’s car, the other man was practically dragging him along and all he could think was that it was almost over. He was slipping in and out of awareness, and soon he would be able to let go.

The next time he was at all aware, he was being lowered into the passenger seat of the car...

He heard the command for the dog to jump into the backseat a moment before he felt a wet nose gently nudge the side of his head...

A door slammed, and suddenly Finch was beside him looking worried...

Feeling the road under the car and seeing the outside world stream past him, he finally let go.

 

**ooooooo**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a frustrating chapter to write, especially Finch's explanation to Reese, and I'm still not exactly happy with it. If you have a chance, could you let me know your thoughts? Thanks!


	13. Do No Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure it's obvious, but I'm not a medical professional. Though not accurate, I hope the medical aspects are at least semi-plausible. 
> 
> Thanks for the beta ncismom!

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Thirteen: Do No Wrong**     

Reese had warned him, yet when his friend had passed out just minutes into their drive, Finch’s worry for the younger man had ratcheted up yet another notch; it had been something he thought impossible just moments before. In fact, he had almost hit a parked car in his haste to check and make sure John was still amongst the living.

The resulting boost in adrenaline had been just what he had needed to think beyond the current moment. His first priority was to figure out how to get Reese’s injuries treated without drawing undue attention from the authorities, since as far as they were concerned, the ‘Man in the Suit’ was dead. A sudden burst of inspiration had his mind instantly whirling with ideas and plans. He also finally remembered that he needed to call the detectives with an update.

He had kept the conversation with the detectives brief, much to their dissatisfaction and despite their rather colorful protests.  Finch knew he had been beyond rude and seemingly ungrateful to them, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment. Harold was indeed extremely grateful for their assistance the previous night, but he also knew that John would not want his obvious vulnerabilities to be on display to the detectives. Given his current mental state, Finch was certain that introducing Reese to two police detectives would be an extremely _bad_ idea.

The computer genius continued making more phone calls, and more than an hour after he had found Reese in that cold, dilapidated building, they had arrived at their final destination.  Immediately upon their arrival, Ms. Brozi had demonstrated just how invaluable she was as the manager of the Coronet Hotel. She’d asked no questions and had everything he’d requested ready and waiting for them, including a penthouse suite and the medical supplies he had previously stashed in a basement storeroom for emergencies. Mira had even taken the initiative and had a wheelchair ready to help transport John along with a clear path to the service elevators in order to ensure their anonymity. Later, when he’d found pet supplies and a refrigerator stocked with food and drinks one didn’t normally find in a hotel suite, he’d made a mental note to give Ms. Brozi a more than generous bonus.

Approximately ninety minutes later, Dr. Enright and her wife had arrived at the penthouse suite reserved in their name for an open-ended stay. In their luggage, they’d managed to smuggle the portable medical equipment that would be needed to determine Reese’s condition. Harold had lost track of the time it had taken for the three of them working together to diagnose and treat all of John’s many injuries.

Finch had detested every single second, because in order to help they’d had to cause his friend pain, which was evidenced by the distressed sounds John had made. Harold was dismayed that the medication Reese had received could not completely free the younger man from their well-intentioned yet tortuous actions. However, throughout all the X-rays, bandaging, and clean-up, John never once returned to anything remotely close to consciousness. 

Eventually, they had done all they could, and settled John under the bed’s covers with IV fluids for hydration and a nasal cannula to provide him oxygen, which they hoped would ease his slightly labored breathing. Maddy and Amy had then retired to the second bedroom at the other end of the suite for some rest, promising to return in two hours. Once they’d left the room, Bear had moved from his post at the entrance to the bedroom and had tentatively approached the bed and Finch, who had practically collapsed from exhaustion into an overstuffed chair at Reese’s bedside. Harold had barely begun to pet the dog, when Bear had suddenly darted away, going around to the other side of the bed.

Bear jumped up and settled down at the far corner of the Grand King-sized bed. As much as he was able, Harold had bolted out of his chair, determined to keep the animal from disturbing John; however, every command, every attempt to move the dog was completely ignored. Finch was puzzled at first by the outright disobedience, but then he realized that the shepherd seemed to be on guard and was keeping his distance from John. Perhaps he had instinctively realized that he could hurt his human if he got too close, or it was also possible that he was still a little wary of Reese’s earlier odd behavior. He decided to let Bear remain where he was since it was pretty apparent that they both needed continued reassurance that John wasn’t going to disappear from their lives again too soon.

Around two hours later, Dr. Enright woke Finch from a light sleep, his neck and back muscles cramped from sitting awkwardly in the chair for so long. Harold watched as she considered Bear’s presence on the bed for a minute, her eyes going from Reese to Finch and finally back to Bear. Nodding once and shrugging, she then had ignored the dog as she’d attended to her patient. Finch had been relieved that Enright seemed to understand why the dog was necessary for both his and John’s well-being. Throughout the doctor’s ministrations, John never once moved or made a sound, not even when Maddy had changed the bandage on his left arm, which was covering a small, painful-looking second-degree burn.

Unfortunately, in the last couple of hours, John had managed to develop a slight fever to go with his many hurts. Dr. Enright immediately started Reese on antipyretics and antibiotics, hoping to see some improvement the next time she checked up on her patient. Harold knew this was a complication his friend did not need and hoped the medicine would do its job quickly.

Though he was reluctant to leave the room, he did slip out for a time to take the opportunity to freshen up while Maddy finished up with Reese. Realizing neither he nor Bear had eaten anything in far too long, he also went and grabbed them both something to eat. On his way back, he noticed a set of faux-leather bound volumes of classic literature on a shelf in a corner of the living room. He couldn’t help but be drawn to them especially once he realized that they were stories that he’d enjoyed reading when he was younger. Selecting a couple of volumes, he retreated back to the bedroom with his spoils as quickly as he could manage.

Before leaving, Dr. Enright reiterated the possibility that it could be quite some time before Reese would regain consciousness, hinting that Finch get a proper rest, but he refused. With his amnesia, there was no way of knowing how John would react upon awaking alone in a strange environment. His friend may have lost more than two years’ worth of memories, but Reese had tentatively extended him a tiny amount of trust in that abandoned building. Going by the younger man’s reaction just after hearing it, he suspected that his name had been familiar to John. He had to stay; he needed to prove himself worthy of that trust and show the injured man that they were indeed friends.

In the following hours, Dr. Enright had awakened a sleeping Harold a few times prior to checking on her patient’s multiple injuries before John had finally begun to stir. When Harold first noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye as he had been reading, it was more than an hour until Maddy was next scheduled to next check in on Reese. Thinking the stubborn low-grade fever John had been fighting had somehow gotten out of control, he was about to set the book down and call for the doctor when he recognized what was actually happening. Reese was dreaming, and Finch was amazed he knew the signs, having only observed it twice before while John was recovering from the bullet wounds Mark Snow’s colleague had inflicted. If he was interpreting the restlessness of the movements correctly, then the dream was obviously not a very pleasant one.

Finch knew he would be taking his own life into his hands if he attempted to wake an injured man with John’s skills by touch alone. Instead, he tried calling Reese’s name multiple times, but that failed to rouse him. What did happen was that his friend seemed to calm a little at the sound of his voice, which made a strange kind of sense to Harold. He’d lost count of the number of times Reese had asked something akin to: _Are you listening, Finch?_ To which he had each time, in some form, replied: _Always, Mr. Reese_.

So much of their partnership depended on them communicating with one another. Reese was not only used to Harold being there at the other end of the line, listening in all the time, but talking as well, providing critical information in order to help their Numbers. Perhaps, despite the amnesia, John’s subconscious was still seeking that connection; Finch could use that to his advantage to calm the younger man and prevent him from damaging himself further.

Adjusting his glasses, Harold found his place in the text and began reading aloud. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how apropos the book was in some ways to their lives.

“ _In fact, four men such as they were – four men devoted to one another, from their purses to their lives; four men always supporting one another, never yielding, executing singly or together the resolutions formed in common_ …”

As he continued to read, Finch was pleased to see his experiment had worked. Reese seemed to be sleeping peacefully once more, prompting Harold to make the decision to keep going for as long as he could or until John woke up.

With only another half hour until Dr. Enright was to once again assess Reese’s injuries, Harold took a short break from reading aloud to get a drink of water. Deciding to rest his voice for a few moments, he paced back and forth along the side of the bed to relieve the cramped muscles in his legs and back. When he had first stood up and set the book down on the bedside table, Bear’s head had snapped up in attention, but then he quickly went back to intently staring at his injured human.

At one point, Harold changed direction and headed towards the large window. He pushed aside the heavy curtains and looked out over the city. Even at this hour, late or early depending on how one thought about it, New York City was still quite active. The scene before him faded as he began to recall what had happened over the last day or so.

That was when it finally hit him. An explosion had almost killed John, whereas one had definitely succeeded in killing Nathan. He’d been so wrapped up in finding Reese that the frightening similarities hadn’t even occurred to him until now. He shuddered and almost had to remind himself to breathe at that idea. Nathan’s death had been a turning point in his life, one that had cost him so much and yet led him to a friendship he hadn’t expected nor wanted in the beginning. Yet somehow they had managed to…

Bear emitting a low whine snapped him out of his wandering thoughts and it occurred to him that he’d been away longer than he had intended. As he limped back towards his chair, he thought he had seen Reese move. Unsure whether or not he had imagined the whole thing, Harold called John’s name, and was rewarded with more purposeful movements; his friend was definitely fighting his way towards consciousness. He paused briefly, frowning at the thought that he knew what that even looked like; he had unfortunately experienced the situation one too many times since they had begun working together. This allowed him to recognize another behavior, something his partner probably considered a dangerous habit, but it was coupled with one that had probably saved his partner’s life more than a few times.

The purposeful movements decreased then disappeared altogether with the clenching of one of Reese’s hands into a loose fist. This usually signified that John was indeed conscious and evaluating his surroundings to determine whether or not he was safe. Finch took the last few remaining steps towards the head of John’s bed and noted that Bear had lifted his head up from his paws, looking ready to greet Reese. It was apparent that the dog shared his opinion that their friend was awake.

Harold was confident that, despite the concussion and fever, his bedridden partner was aware of his presence. He hoped that the injured man’s memory had retained the knowledge of what had happened between them in that rundown building otherwise the next several minutes would probably not go very well.

“I know you are awake, Mr. Reese,” he matter-of-factly said, hoping to get his friend to stop playing opossum.

At first, John did not react, but then his eyebrows momentarily drew downwards before smoothing out.

Then, nearly eighteen hours after Finch had discovered Reese’s amnesia, and more than sixteen hours after Dr. Enright had begun treating him, John finally opened his eyes.

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt Harold reads to John is from the "Three Musketeers" by Alexandre Dumas (1844). 
> 
> Mira Brozi was the POI for episode 2.15, Booked Solid.
> 
> In case you care or are curious... A Grand King bed measures 80”W x 98”L inches compared to King size which is 76"W x 80"L.


	14. In The Wrong

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Fourteen: In The Wrong**  

He was everywhere and yet he was nowhere. It was a little difficult to tell which at any given moment, and he honestly didn’t care, especially since the pain that had been determinedly clinging to him had for the most part, finally been chased away. For a while, all he had known was pain; he’d thought he’d felt hands and heard voices apologizing, but eventually it was quiet and he was drifting along in a sea of black.

At times he was pulled away from the peace he had discovered, but he always managed to find it again. He realized he liked it there and wanted to stay, but at the same time he knew he shouldn’t, or more accurately, _couldn’t_ stay. However, he wasn’t quite ready to go back, knowing that everything was wrong out there where he belonged. So, for the time being, he allowed himself to remain surrounded by the serenity the dark sea provided.

Until….

The first images didn’t bother him; he recognized the snapshots of his life in happier times. Then the image flashes became more frequent and as they came faster and faster, he found them shattering his peace. He was being shown images he would rather forget, even if he didn’t quite recognize many of them.

He wanted to get away from the images, but he couldn’t; they just kept following him everywhere – they seemed to _be_ everywhere. Finally, he decided he must face them, but immediately he wished he hadn’t. They overwhelmed him until suddenly his surroundings changed.

He was standing in a large grove of trees, hearing the frantic, yet also resigned, chirping of a bird. A desperate need to find the source of the sound spurred him to begin searching for it. For a time, it seemed like he had help in his search, but for the most part, the helpers remained indistinct beings that he was unable to properly focus on or identify. At one point, he passed close by a brown bear with a black muzzle, but he never felt threatened by it, despite its growls.

It was taking much longer than he expected to find the bird, because although the grove didn’t seem that large, from time-to-time he seemed to be going around circles. Determined, he kept going forward looking for clues of the bird’s whereabouts. Some indeterminate time later, a tapping sound caught his attention. He moved towards the sound, certain that it would lead him to the bird. The wind picked up; it stirred the branches and blew leaves around. There was a sudden loud crack from above and a branch fell to the ground, but then something else caught his attention.

It was a bird in a cage seemingly made out of wires and circuit boards, hanging high up off the ground on a nearby tree branch. The tree itself was being attacked by poison ivy which appeared to be firmly rooted in place but was also slowly winding itself around the cage. The bird, which kept changing form (between a wren, crane, finch, crow, and many others) looked not only worried and disgusted at the intrusion, but also like it was waiting for just the right opportunity to strike back or even escape.

He felt an overriding, overpowering need to free the bird; it was as if his very existence depended on accomplishing the mission. Nothing he tried got him close enough to free the bird; it always remained just out of reach, frustrating him almost beyond endurance.

Then, from all around, a voice seemingly made up of thousands of other voices spoke to him. At first, the mechanical, completely emotionless voices were difficult to understand, but eventually one voice began to rise above the rest. _This_ voice was not unfeeling; in fact, it sounded worried about something, or perhaps someone. He recognized the voice, welcomed it, and felt his frustration drain away.

The voice caused the landscape to change, and he knew that when he looked up again, the cage would be gone and the bird would be free. He glanced up and the cage was indeed gone, but the bird was now on the ground, looking slightly dazed and confused. Gently, he picked it up, but after it tested its wings, it flew away. He tried to stay close to the bird, but it managed somehow to keep its distance and yet stay close by.

Underlying all of this was that voice; it was speaking to him and yet _not_ to him. He couldn’t distinguish the words, but that didn’t bother him because all that mattered was that the voice was keeping him grounded, keeping him from going too far adrift in the blackness that surrounded him once more.

The images still managed to pull him from the black on occasion, but every time the voice was there with him. It made it easier for him to cope when the images were too random for him to recognize or too painful for him to deal with. Everything he saw had the essence of familiarity about them, but for the most part, they remained hazy and just out of his reach.

Time passed as it was wont to do, yet he had no concept of how long he’d been adrift. All he knew was the voice was there with him – until suddenly it wasn’t. It had happened several times before, but the voice always, _always_ resumed its soothing tones relatively quickly. This time, however, when the voice tapered off, it didn’t immediately come back, and he couldn’t help but try to track it back to its source. No longer content to let himself drift, he roamed around the darkness searching for the voice. Suddenly, it seemed as if a wave had crested and he was being pushed to the shore. 

John was thrust into awareness, and only his many years of training kept him from opening his eyes, though his hand clenched into a loose fist out of habit. From past experience, returning to consciousness with the myriad of aches and pains that he had argued that he was in hostile territory. He needed as much intel as possible about his situation before he officially woke up.

He extended his senses as much as he could and was confident that someone else was in the room with him; he was sure of that even before he heard the limping gait coming closer to him. To his left, he heard metal clinking together, which gave away a second person’s presence, possibly a soldier on guard duty if he’d correctly identified the sound he had heard as being a pair of dog tags.  His injuries were throbbing in time with the beating of his heart, especially his head, which reminded him that it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to fight his way out this situation if it proved overtly hostile.

“I know you are awake, Mr. Reese.”

He knew that voice, but from where? And how?

The memory of that encounter rushed in, causing the pain in his head to momentarily spike. It was that guy, Mr. Finch, from his hideout, which meant that the noise he’d heard had literally been the dog’s tags. Assuming the man who had found him had been telling the truth and his instincts weren’t lying to him, Reese figured that he was relatively safe – for now.

He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The pain in his head spiked once more, as he knew it would, given the probable concussion that he had sustained. No matter how much it seared his eyes, adjusting to the light in the room was a necessary evil if he was going to visually assess his current situation.

While trying to stuff all the pain and nausea he was feeling back into the recesses of his mind, he didn’t really hear everything Mr. Finch was saying to him until he caught the word ‘doctor’ coming out of the guy’s mouth.

“Wait,” he said, a little surprised by how quiet and drained his voice sounds.

Mr. Finch looked down at the phone before shaking his head, “Mr. Reese, you are obviously in pain and I promised that I would call Dr. En—.”

“Ple-ase…,” he began before his dry throat took his voice away and he coughed, causing all of his hurts to stand at attention. He closed his eyes to try and pull himself together again when he felt something touch his lips.

He started a little, thinking there was a threat only to discover that it was a straw in a glass of what appeared to be water.

John hesitated; it was highly unusual for him to give his trust so quickly – especially in a situation like this or even to a virtual stranger. Yet he did trust the other man even if he didn’t exactly remember why.

As if he knew precisely why he was hesitating, the older man dryly said, “If I had wanted you dead, I could’ve accomplished it a dozen different ways by now.”

John shot an annoyed glare Mr. Finch’s way and for some reason his keeper took that as permission to help him take a drink. He sipped at the water; it was heavenly and soothed his throat even though his stomach wasn’t sure it would accept it. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Reese.” Mr. Finch set the glass down and retrieved his phone.

“Please,” he said, lifting his gaze to the other man’s. “I need answers more than I need pain killers.”

“Five minutes,” the other man countered.

“Alright,” he agreed. It wasn’t as if he _never_ wanted any pain killers.

John took the opportunity to look around the room as Mr. Finch drew a chair closer to the bed. It seemed a little familiar, and if he had to guess, it was most likely a hotel room, and an expensive one from the looks of the place. The dog from earlier was lying on the far corner of the mattress and appeared to be ready to pounce. Whether it would be a friendly or unfriendly pounce was just one of the many questions he had.

Reese struggled to wrestle his jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order even as he fought to ignore his body’s demands for relief. John had the feeling that Mr. Finch had started the five minute countdown the second he had sat down, so he knew he was running out of time. His thoughts kept coming back to his dreams. From them he had gotten the sense that he was friends with Finch; he really needed to know if that was true.

The longer he had been teamed with Mark and Kara – especially Kara – the more warped and twisted and just plain wrong the concept of friendship had become. He had to find out if his dreams had any basis in reality or if they were something his concussed mind had fabricated. It had been a long time since he’d had a friend…

“Someone took you, and I found you.” He stated, not really asking a question. A sudden thought came to his mind. “You didn’t want me to, but I did anyway.”

Mr. Finch’s eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, this was not what the older man had been expecting from him.

“It’s a _very_ long story, but essentially that is correct.”

He was beyond relieved. Reese was aware that his dream of the bird in the cage had contained heavy symbolism, but he knew he wouldn’t go through so much for just anyone. It was then that he realized that if the dream was true, and the bird was indeed Finch, then the dog must be...

“Bear,” he blurted out. He turned his head in time to see the Belgian Malinois sit up and wag its tail. Ignoring the painful twinge that moving his arm caused, he lightly patted the bed twice and Bear happily came forward to lay down by his side with its head practically in his lap.

“You remember,” Finch accused, looking hopeful.

“Not really,” he confessed, his hand coming to a rest in the fur of Bear’s neck. “Just bits and pieces. Images without context.”

“You haven’t asked the date.” The other man’s voice held a note of curiosity.

“I know,” he acknowledged, wanting to rub his eyes but knowing that moving more than absolutely necessary was currently a bad idea. “My head is telling me that it’s November of 2008, but my gut and everything else is telling me that I’m completely wrong.”

Finch snorted. “I would definitely trust your gut in this case, Mr. Reese. What made you think it was 2008?”

“Not sure,” he answered, lightly stroking Bear’s fur with his thumb. “That’s just how it was. Walking away from the warehouse, everything around me confirmed I was in New York City. The last time I remember being in the City, Obama had just been elected. I was on assign—I was at a bar hoping to see…” John trailed off as images of Jessica flooded his mind: their time in Mexico; running into her at that airport; getting her voice message and promising to come for her; finding out that he was too late and that she was… That Jess was… O God.

“John, are you...?”

Despair and guilt and regret slammed into him. He couldn’t understand the words Finch was saying even though he knew they were laced with concern.

_Jessica was dead_. The loss seemed brand new, and yet at the same time, it was more than familiar. John’s walls collapsed and he could not hold the tide back anymore; pain of every kind rushed in. He was done asking questions and longed for the oblivion that pain killers could bring him.

He hardly recognized his own voice and his thoughts were scattered. “F-Finch? I…I can’t… I’m not…”

“The doctor is on her way,” Finch assured before standing and moving the chair out of the way then calling for Bear whose warmth John immediately missed.

A semi-familiar woman with brown hair rushed in; she immediately took over and quickly began assessing his health. A standard neuro-check and complete honesty about his pain levels resulted in the syringe-full of the pain medication he had so desperately wanted, hoping it would allow him to forget again for a while.

It must have been strong stuff, because his vision immediately had begun to gray around the edges. The last thing he had seen as he succumbed to the encroaching darkness was Finch talking to the doctor.

 

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, John's dream/nightmare is essentially a messed up version of the first two episodes of the second season.


	15. All Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. Real life took over for a bit.
> 
> Still not a doctor...

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Fifteen: All Wrong**   

 

When Dr. Enright rushed into the room, Harold had retreated to the opposite side of the bed, cajoling Bear to join him. They watched as John was quickly examined and then after a few questions was given a heavy dose of pain medication.

Finch was highly disturbed by Reese’s ultimate reaction to his innocuous question; it was obvious it had triggered some intense memories, but he was uncertain of their content. He thought he knew exactly everything about Mr. Reese, but apparently his extensive dossier was missing a few key details.

He had known that there had been a mission here in New York in 2008, but by all accounts, nothing unusual had happened. There had been no indication of anything that would have caused his friend’s reaction, yet the look on John’s face seemed to indicate a completely different story. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that particular expression since just before Reese had unknowingly bumped into his wheelchair at the hospital where Jessica Arndt had been employed.

Harold lifted a hand to his forehead and kneaded at the headache that was trying to form there. He hadn’t meant to harm his friend in any way, but it was still his fault that this had happened. He had promised to call Maddy as soon as Reese had regained consciousness, but instead had given into to his friend’s need for answers. Granted, he hadn’t predicted this outcome, but nonetheless he was at fault.

Dr. Enright stepped back from John’s bed and headed across the room towards the bureau, which contained some medical supplies. Finch commanded Bear to stay in his usual corner of the bed and limped over to the doctor.

Maddy was in the process of stripping off her used exam gloves when she rounded on him. “You should have called me the _second_ John woke up!” She flung her gloves towards the garbage can where they hit the rim and landed on the carpeted floor. “His vitals were all over the place and his pain levels much greater than they should have been. What the hell happened?”

Guilt and concern were vying for dominance as he answered almost to himself, “I think he has just remembered his worst nightmare.”

 

**ooooooo**

 

_Ever been in love?_  
Once.  
  
 _When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different, someone better._  
  
  
 _I was an idiot, let her slip away. I instantly regretted it, but it was too late. It’s funny how the choices you make change who you become._  
  
 _I was the guy who left her behind._  
  
 _I thought she deserved someone better than me._  
  
  
 _I needed a friend that I could talk to._  
  
 _I’m coming to get you._  
  
 _And no one is coming to save you._  
  
  
 _You were too late for her. Just like you were too late for your friend Jessica._  
  
 _I’m sorry to have to tell you this – Jessica died in a car accident._  
  
  
 _When that person is taken from you, what do you become then?_  
  
 _In the end, we’re all alone._

 

John’s eyes popped open and he sat up, sucking in a sharp breath. Less than two seconds later, he had regretted having moved and promptly lay back down, attempting to regain control of his body. Immediately, he recognized one aspect of his body which could not be ignored for much longer. 

He glanced to his left, expecting to see Bear still sitting on the bed, but the shepherd was gone. Carefully looking to his right, he saw that Finch was also gone and that he was alone.

_In the end, we’re all alone._

Jessica’s voice reverberated in his head; they were some of her last words to him.

A wave of negative emotions threatened to engulf him, but John fought it, choosing to focus on the issue of his overfull bladder and how he was going to solve it. He could wait for Finch to return, but he had no idea when that would be, and Reese didn’t want to deal with a near stranger at the moment even if it was his doctor.

John slowly sat up, easily feeling every one of his injuries. It had taken him longer than he thought it would, but he had eventually managed to disentangle himself from the bedclothes and eased his legs over the side of the bed. He hung his head down, resting his elbows on his knees, and waited out the dizziness that he had felt with his head’s change in altitude. Once he felt somewhat normal again – as normal as he was going to get for the time being – he reached over and pulled out the needle in the back of his hand which led to a bag of IV fluids. As he tied a knot in the tubing, he had a sudden flash of another time he’d pulled a needle out of his hand. There was a glimpse of a beautiful woman who had helped him to stand and then the memory had vanished just as suddenly as it had come.

Ignoring the fact that his body was one giant ache, he eased himself into a standing position. Unsurprisingly, he felt unsteady on his feet, but he was determined to take care of his problem on his own. The bathroom door was almost directly across from him, but the distance seemed to be ten times further than what he knew it to be. Ever so slowly he shuffled his way there, needing to stop about half-way there to catch his breath. Reese had no idea how much time had passed, but he was ridiculously grateful when he reached the bathroom door.

When he was finished relieving himself, John washed his hands and took the opportunity to splash some water on his face, taking care not to get his bandages wet. Reese barely took the time to dry himself off because he could feel his energy waning and knew he needed to return to bed.

He had opened the bathroom door and had barely stepped back into the bedroom when, from his right, he heard. “I had to stop Dr. Enright from barging in and making sure you were not passed out on the tile floor.”

Reese suspected that, if he had not recognized Finch’s voice right away, then things would not have ended well – for either of them. As it was, his body had still tensed up in response and he had to force himself not to flinch or grimace as a result of moving heavily protesting injuries.

Finch – he still couldn’t remember the guy’s given name – must have realized what he had done because his expression instantly changed from wry amusement to concern.

“I apologize, Mr. Reese,” he said. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

John nodded slightly but otherwise said nothing, concentrating on carefully making his way back to the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Finch following him at an easy distance to help him if he should need it. He appreciated the thought, but he was used to dealing with his injuries on his own.

Sitting down on the mattress, he had to work hard to suppress the weary yet relieved sigh that wanted to escape his mouth. Finch turned towards the bedroom door which John hadn’t realized had been closed before now.

With his hand on the door knob, the older man hesitated. “Once I realized where you were, I temporarily banished Bear from the room. At times, he can be a little too enthusiastic in his greetings towards you. You might want to be prepared.”

Finch had barely begun to open the door when Bear pushed his way in and made a beeline towards him. Without really thinking about it, Reese barked out a couple of commands he remembered from his time serving overseas. Bear promptly obeyed by calmly sitting at attention next to his knees; it was his confirmation that the dog was military trained.

John scratched behind the shepherd’s ears, the dog leaning into his hand a bit. He wished he could remember meeting the beautiful animal, but he was only able to recall past missions where his unit had used a Belgian Malinois along with a quick flash of a swastika.

He was certain Finch was watching him, assessing his actions, but he ignored the scrutiny just like he had been ignoring what his body was telling him. Ignoring the memories of Jess that wanted to overtake his mind was even more difficult. There would be a time for those memories and the emotions connected to them, but now was not that time.

“Finch, why does a swastika come to mind in relation to Bear?” he asked without looking up from the happy dog.

“ _That_ is part of a much longer story I very much hope you will soon remember,” he began as he limped towards the chair that was still next to the bed and sitting down. “In short, you liberated him from the Aryan Brotherhood while you were helping one of our…clients.”

Reese heard the hesitation in the other man’s voice, remembering that a different name had been used for the people they supposedly helped. “Clients,” he repeated, trying to convey in his voice that he knew something was off in the word choice.

“Numbers,” Finch quickly amended with a quirk of his lips.

He cocked his eyebrow in question, wondering if he was being tested, but the bespectacled man shook his head. “Mr. Reese, it would be imprudent to discuss this right now with your doctor so anxious to assess your current condition. May I call her in?”

Reese closed his eyes and nodded once, letting the discussion go for now.

While Finch was making the call to the doctor, John realized the dog would be in the way of an exam. He patted the bed next to him; Bear had immediately taken the hint and jumped up. John then pointed to the opposite corner of the bed and accompanied it with the command to lie down, which, after an affectionate head butt to his shoulder, Bear readily obeyed.

The doctor was just entering the room as he turned back around. Maddy, as she had reintroduced herself, banished Finch from the room. The older man looked as though he wanted to protest, or more accurately, wanted _him_ to protest, but John didn’t. Finch looked disappointed and almost hurt by the lack of objection, but left the room as quickly as he could, saying he would be in the living room if he was needed.

Once alone, Maddy then proceeded to give him a thorough check, including one to assess his neurological functioning. It was a test that he was familiar with from a time in the Army when he’d received a severe concussion. When she had finished, she had given him the laundry list of his injuries. By that point he just wanted her to be gone, having exceeded his tolerance level for human interaction. Therefore, he had zoned out for most of the list, but had at least gathered that his most severe injuries were, as he’d already guessed, his concussion and trauma-induced amnesia. His memories should all come back to him in time, but in order to avoid unnecessary stress during his recovery, John was told that he should avoid trying to force recall.

Several times, he had gotten the impression that she was going to say something about him needing to be in a hospital, but each time she bit the words back with an irritated sigh. The doctor ended the exam by taking the IV and fluids away to the dresser and returning with a couple bottles of water and pills. He’d then received an express warning to completely finish his antibiotics and to not be a hero and take his pain medication. As she _finally_ had begun to wrap up in preparation for leaving the room, Maddy gave him some symptoms to look out for which would require immediate hospitalization – symptoms that he had no doubt Finch had also been given or had learned about on his computer.

Computer?  John mentally shrugged, accepting the random information his mind had supplied.

Just before she opened the bedroom door, the doctor asked if he had wanted Finch back in the room. Reese had said no and asked for the light to be turned off and the door shut, citing the need for sleep. He was fairly certain that Finch would be annoyed with him, but he didn’t much care at the moment. All he wanted was to be left alone.

_In the end, we’re all alone._

But he wasn’t exactly alone.

He had settled into the bed, shifting to partially lie on his less-injured left side. The injured man caught sight of the dog he had temporarily forgotten at the opposite corner. They stared at each other for several long moments. Bear’s tail began to wag and then the shepherd made a sound, which Reese thought sounded almost like a sigh of frustration. He rolled his eyes and beckoned Bear over to him, thinking the conclusion had pretty much been inevitable from the start.

When Bear had reached John, he lowered his front end slightly to bury his head into John’s abdomen before gravity seemed to drop the animal’s hind end onto the bed. With his right arm, John began to continuously pet Bear, ignoring the discomfort his actions caused him. His right side was essentially one giant bruise; it would be a few days before he wouldn’t be feeling every movement of his body.

Looking around the room, his attention was caught by the heavily curtained window on the far wall. From the light leaking in around the edges, it was still day outside but otherwise he didn’t know the time – or the date. To him, it was early 2011, but while Maddy had confirmed it was not the correct date, she refused to let him know how far off he was. She wanted him to recover his memories gradually on his own rather than having them spoon fed to him. It was incredibly frustrating, but given how things had gone earlier when his memories had cascaded, it was probably the right strategy.

The longer he was alone with his thoughts, the more those of Jessica continued to crowd in, attempting to take over. Though he was indeed tired, he couldn’t relax enough to sleep because of all the thoughts rolling around inside his head, including what he should do next. John had no family and he had somehow been betrayed by the CIA. He had no solid memories to back it up, but Reese had the feeling that all he really had in the world right now was his job working for Finch and the dog stretched out alongside him. Given his almost complete lack of recent memories, his options were limited since he had no idea what dangers awaited him outside of this hotel room. John didn’t really have anywhere else he could go; until he remembered differently, the only thing he could think to do for the time being was to stay with his employer.

Decision made – not that he really had much choice – he allowed the wall he had constructed around his memories of Jessica to crumble and to come tumbling down. Grief slammed into him, ripping an unexpected sob from him. Bear whined once and burrowed closer into his side.

“It’s okay, Bear,” John lied, trying to comfort the dog even though he knew Bear could sense that he was definitely _not_ okay.

Loss upon loss. He may not remember the most recent months or years of his life but he did remember that. Losing Jessica had just been one loss too many after everything he’d been through in his life. Her loss had broken him and he had been desolate. Failure had become the norm and despair had ruled over him. Hopelessness and worthlessness had taken root and been allowed to thrive. Knowing he had somehow survived and had gone on living did not help lessen the impact of what he was currently experiencing.

Lying there upon the bed in the semi-dark, he allowed the maelstrom of emotions to sweep over him again and again as he thoroughly reacquainted himself with the loss of the only woman he had ever truly loved.

Sometime later, when he had finally slipped into an uneasy sleep, a single tear made its way down his face before it eventually became one with his pillow.

 

**ooooooo**

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extra (or lack) of line breaks in the section with all the episode quotes were done intentionally. Quotes are a mix of things John has heard or said. Can anyone list the episodes that they’re from?
> 
> Beta awesomeness by ncismom! Mistakes, dumb or otherwise, are my fault.


	16. Wrong Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life is going to be challenging for the rest of October, so I can't guarantee that I'll be able to keep a regular posting schedule. Rest assured that I will continue (and finish) this story… Thanks for your patience.
> 
> This chapter explores Finch's POV of recent events.

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Sixteen: Wrong Ideas**   

Finch was beginning to regret having the taxi cab drop him and Bear off so far from the Coronet Hotel. He was anxious to get back to Reese, feeling guilty that he’d left his injured friend alone for so long with people he barely knew and definitely didn’t trust. However, living according to the axiom of ‘ _only the paranoid survive’_ required that he take any and every precaution to keep his final destination off any record books. 

Not long after Reese had finally awakened and then subsequently been drugged back into oblivion, he had received notification on his cell phone that there was a new Number. Finch had instantly felt conflicted. He had known that he would be faced with this dilemma sooner rather than later, but now that it had come up, he still had been not sure what to do. Regardless of who they were, it didn’t feel right to leave Mr. Reese so completely vulnerable with virtual strangers, but he also knew that John would not want him to abandon the Numbers. 

John, despite Harold’s frequent protests to the contrary, considered himself to be utterly expendable, that anyone with his skills could do the job; the show could and should go on without him. The possibility of dying in the line of duty was not a new concept for Reese. The job was a second chance for the ex-CIA agent; if he were to leave this world protecting a Number, then John wouldn’t see it as anything other than a final atonement for all of the pain, death, and destruction he had caused. 

More than once, when in extreme danger, Reese had told Finch to go on without him or to leave him behind, but Harold could no longer fathom doing so. In the end, it was that concept which had helped him decide how to handle his dilemma. 

He had hesitated at taking Bear with him, knowing how protective the dog was of John, but Harold needed a cover and Bear needed the exercise after being cooped up for so long. Barely ten feet outside of the hotel though and he was feeling guilty, but armed with a purpose, he managed to make himself keep heading towards the closest payphone. 

Back at the Library, he’d quickly and efficiently researched basic information about the new Number before calling Detectives Carter and Fusco. He had dreaded the conversation to come, but surprisingly, it had gone much better than he had predicted. In a conference call with the two detectives, they had immediately and at length vented their displeasure at being kept in the dark about Reese’s condition. Finch refused to give Fusco and Carter too many details and evaded their attempts to solicit more information from him beyond what he had revealed: John’s condition was improving but he was not yet ready for visitors. 

Wising up to the fact that they would not be able to pry any other information from Finch, the detectives grudgingly accepted what details they had been given. They “politely” demanded that they be updated at least once a day about their mutual friend’s condition. Harold immediately acquiesced and countered with a request of his own regarding helping the newest Number. Carter once again asked where he got his information, but still agreed, along with Fusco, to investigate on his and John’s behalf. 

After terminating the call, he spent some time conducting more in-depth research to help the detectives in their task. Despite his overall desire to return to the hotel to be there when Reese next awoke, Harold still lost himself in his quest for information. Thankfully, Bear was there to remind him that he had another, just as important, commitment. 

When they had arrived at the Library, Bear had taken up a position at the entrance to the hallway leading towards the grand staircase. To some, it would seem as if Bear was either waiting for someone to come or was guarding him, but Harold could tell that it was more than that. He had absolutely no doubt that the Malinois respected him and would give up his life to protect him, but Finch also knew that Bear had realized John currently needed him more and was therefore determined to get back to his human as soon as possible. 

Every so often, the shepherd would move from his ‘post’ and come to sit next to him. The first couple of times, Harold had promised that he’d just be a few more minutes, but it wasn’t until the third time that he realized that he had continued to get wrapped up in finding information that would help the detectives. Inadvertently, he kept forgetting his internal promise to not be gone too long. 

That third and final time, Bear had rested his head in Harold’s lap, staring up at him and refusing to be budged. A mild panic had gripped him when he realized just how long he had been gone from the hotel. Finch considered calling to check in on Reese, but he refrained, not wanting to risk causing a problem if Dr. Enright accidentally woke the ex-agent up before her next scheduled check. His mind conjured up all sorts of troubling scenarios on that score. If he hurried, he would be back in time. 

He thought back several hours and again fervently wished that Reese had not recalled Jessica’s death so soon or in such an overwhelming way. It was done though, and all he could do now was to be there for any fall-out. Harold recalled how lost John had been when they had first met. He understood what it was like to lose the best parts of your life; having to relive one’s tragedies for a second time in living color must be hell for the younger man.  

Hurriedly, he had sent all the relevant information he’d found to Detective Carter. Once he was in a taxi heading back to the hotel, he had called and informed her of the research he had done and how to access it. At the end of their conversation, he had apologized that he would likely not be available if any further assistance was needed. Carter had accepted the apology, commenting that it was unnecessary and that John’s health was just as much of a priority. 

Harold continued to be torn; he was dedicated to helping the Numbers, but he also felt that he owed Reese a debt, one far beyond what the younger man currently knew about. He settled on putting aside his guilt at not being able to directly help their current Number and instead focused on the fact that he was making sure Reese would be there to help future Numbers. He knew he couldn’t realistically help anyone on his own and was thankful that he could call on the detectives for help while John was incapacitated. 

Now, less than a block away from the Coronet, he realized that there was a chance that he might not be back in time, and increased his speed as much as he was able, hoping for the best. 

After letting himself back into the hotel suite, he and Bear headed straight for Reese’s room. He nearly experienced heart failure when he had seen that the bed was empty, but thankfully he had immediately noticed the closed bathroom door indicating John’s current location. 

Reassured by the sounds emanating from the bathroom, he backed out of the bedroom door and closed it. Harold was just removing Bear’s service vest when he had spied Maddy heading towards him. When informed where Reese was, she immediately wanted to check on her patient. It had taken a lot to convince her how unwise it would be to disturb someone like Mr. Reese, especially when injured. 

In the end they had reached a compromise: she would wait for him to call her back and he would make sure John made it back to bed without incident. Getting Bear to stay outside the bedroom had been practically a miracle, given the dog’s desire and eagerness to reunite with his human, but he had somehow managed. 

**ooooooo**

Sitting on the couch in the living room, Finch stared at the door to John’s room. Dr. Enright kicking him out of the room for her patient’s examination without any argument from Reese had been somewhat of a disappointment. Harold admittedly also felt a little hurt at the younger man’s attitude until he remembered that John currently didn’t recognize him as a friend. If anything, Reese considered him barely more than an employer. 

There was no reason for Reese to trust him with the intimate details of his health despite the fact that Finch had acquired his medical care in the first place and had sat with him while John had been unconscious. Technically, his self-appointed medical proxy had officially ended once Reese had awakened and could speak for himself. Even after working together for this long, John still only rarely and grudgingly allowed Finch’s help when it came to injuries sustained in the field. 

Their friendship had been slowly but surely developing and now it was back to square one until Reese recovered his memories. The trust John had shown him so far was tenuous, if he forced his company or made a wrong move then Reese would be gone in a flash. He completely understood the situation even though he did not like it one bit. Harold would just have to bide his time and hope that Dr. Enright would share her findings with him. 

Harold stood and limped towards the doctor as she was coming out of John’s room. While he had been waiting for Maddy to emerge, he’d called the detectives and was confident that they had their Number’s case well in hand thus far. Finch finally felt the guilt and anxiety over not being directly involved diminish, allowing him to concentrate on his friend’s well-being. 

He wanted to check on Reese, but the doctor blocked him from entering, pulling the door shut behind her. She immediately held up her hand, causing the protest forming on his lips to evaporate. Gently grabbing his arm, Maddy led him away from the bedroom and back towards the living room. She proceeded to explain that, after her exam, John requested that he be left alone to get some sleep. 

Finch once again had to suppress his discontent over another of John’s decisions. He understood the reasons, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t negatively affected by them. 

Realizing their unique situation, Dr. Enright did agree to update him about his friend’s condition. She was able to give him good news about the physical aspect; his fever was gone and his vitals were strong, but in regards to his mental health, she admitted that she was greatly concerned. Harold was also extremely concerned, but he would never confess that fact aloud. 

When he’d finally found the man who would become his partner and friend rather than someone who was simply an employee, he could see from his intel that John Reese was almost ready to give up. Betrayal and multiple losses had done their best to strip Reese of his will to live. Based on what John had said to him while he’d been disarming the bomb vest, Harold had found his eventual friend just in time. That thought alone had been the subject of one vivid nightmare too many since that night.

From the limited evidence, it seemed that Reese was once again teetering on the edge of the abyss that he’d already had to climb out of several times before. This time Harold had no idea how he was going to keep his friend from falling back in. 

On the way back to her room, Maddy had advised him to let John have the space and time alone that he seemed to obviously crave. Then she smiled and informed him that her patient was due for his next round of antibiotics in a few hours, reminding Harold that the pills were best taken with food. 

For now, he would respect Reese’s wishes, but Dr. Enright's poorly-disguised hint had given Harold a way to intrude upon the other man’s solitude by honest means. Harold sincerely hoped that John was getting the sleep he needed to heal instead of dwelling on what he feared were incomplete memories. 

Harold settled down at the small dining table and had begun to while away the time with his laptop updating several of his and John’s alias. He also kept an eye on the detectives’ progress with the current Number. This time it was easy for him to keep track of the time since his mind kept wandering towards the bedroom at the other end of the room. 

Both of them had lost loved ones in the most tragic of ways and they each had been forced to deal with those losses on their own. His losses had led him to his calling, but Reese’s had set him on a downward spiral. John was his friend and he would not allow the younger man’s desire for solitude to become a path towards isolation. Neither of them was alone anymore; he just had to get Reese to accept that fact once more. Hopefully a hot meal and his company would be a good place start.

 

**ooooooo**


	17. Wrong About This, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has made it nearly impossible for me to find time to write. I didn’t want to split this chapter in two, but I also didn’t want to leave you guys hanging any longer. Half a chapter is better than none, right?

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Seventeen:  Wrong About This, Part I**   

 

With a gasp, John Reese was pulled out of a fretful sleep. Though it was most likely about Jessica, the memory of whatever or whoever he had been dreaming about was mostly gone in a swirl of disconnected, unclear images.

He was still lacking in recent memories and felt heavy with sorrow, physically sluggish, and slightly dizzy, but otherwise John considered himself better off than he had been in that dilapidated building Finch had found him in.

Bear was lying on his side, his head cocked at an angle to keep watch on his human. While sleeping, his right arm had ended up lightly wrapped around his bruised and slightly broken torso. One of Bear’s ears was just within his reach if he stretched his hand just a little. He lightly scratched behind one ear and the shepherd was suddenly trying to get him to increase the amount of contact between them, but John refused to give in.

Odd noises from the other side of the bedroom door had him pausing in his teasing of Bear while at the same time tensing up in preparation for a potential attack. From the dog’s open and relaxed demeanor as Bear had sat up, he concluded that it was Finch about to come in, which was pretty much the last thing he wanted. He had been content being alone with his thoughts and with a dog who loved attention a little too much.

John sighed and closed his eyes, feigning sleep and hoping that the older man would take the hint and leave him alone. As the door opened, there was another odd noise and the clinking of what sounded like glassware or dishes. Seconds later, the smell of food hit his nose, which made him feel a tad nauseated even as his stomach was prompted to rumble. John tried but failed to stop himself from thinking that he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten; normally, he would consider the thought humorous, but instead it depressed him more than a little.

There was another clinking sound just before the light in the bedroom came on, and he heard Finch’s uneven gait coming towards him.

“Mr. Reese, I apologize for disturbing your rest, but you are due for your next dose of antibiotics which are tolerated better with food in your stomach.”

John had felt the bed shift when Bear sat up on his haunches and started thumping his tail, apparently happy to see Finch, but Reese refused to acknowledge the other’s presence. After several long moments of silence, Finch tried again.

“John, _please_. It’s been at least 36 hours since you last had anything to eat.”

He didn’t understand why the other man seemed to care so much, but he hoped that with the return of his memories he would have an explanation. It was the quivering of his employer’s voice as he said ‘please’ more than anything which convinced him to acquiesce.

Reese opened his eyes, blinking at the light and was pleased that it didn’t seem to want to sear a hole in his retinas anymore. As he carefully turned over onto his back, he caught a brief glimpse of relief on Finch’s face before it was locked down behind the other man’s usual stoic expression. As much as he didn’t want the older man around right now, he was suddenly aware of the fact that Finch considered him more than just a lackey or hired gun. The least he could do was to try to eat the meal prepared for him.

He started to reach for the other pillows on the bed, intending on using them to prop himself into a sitting position when he heard, “May I?” John looked at Finch who was gesturing towards the pillows. Reese dipped his head a fraction giving permission, not quite ready to speak aloud.

Finch limped around to the other side of the bed and gathered the remaining pillows and placing them within arms-reach, only pausing in his task to briefly greet Bear. Once back on John’s side of the bed, the older man provided his back some support with one arm while, with his help, stuffed pillows behind it with the other. It took him a few moments to push aside the discomfort the task had caused him as well as the new position, which his ribs didn’t particularly like, but he got used to it. The dizziness he had been feeling off and on since he had awakened had increased for a time, but it quickly backed off; he hoped it would go away once he ate something.

In the next moment, a bed tray, which was loaded down with a bowl of soup, a plate with a couple of bread rolls, and a glass each of water and juice, was set down across his lap. John stared at it, not having any idea what to think about it or the fact that Finch had gone to the trouble of getting food for him.

“Please don’t wait for me to start. I will be back shortly with something for myself and Bear,” Finch said as headed back out of the room.

Apparently, they were going to eat together. Was this something they had done before he’d lost his memory? He would prefer to be alone – maybe continue to keep Bear around for company – but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice in the matter. It was a common theme in his life.

Resigned to his current fate, he was just about to pick up the spoon, when his babysitter – he might as well call it like he saw it – returned carrying another tray similarly laden but instead it had a mug of familiar-smelling tea on it. The smell made him think of Finch in combination with a library, so the tea must be something the older man regularly drank. However, the idea of a library stymied him. Granted, his employer looked bookish, but that didn’t explain away the odd mix of feelings he had about such a place.

Finch set his tray down on the seat of his usual chair. “Mr. Reese, Ms. Brozi, the manager of this hotel and our friend, had this soup specially sent up to you. It is something her mother used to make for her when she was ill; Mira would be offended if you did not at least try it.”

He had pulled a baggy out of his pocket which grabbed Bear’s attention. Finch limped over to a pair of bowls that had previously been out of his line of sight as he had lay supine on the bed. The bag was opened and dumped into one of the bowls causing his furry companion to bolt off the bed and to soon thereafter enjoy its contents.

As Finch returned to his usual chair, the older man had resumed speaking. “We are thinking of adding it permanently to the restaurant’s menu as a signature dish. Early trials have had the restaurant’s patrons responding very favorably to it.”

Cautiously, he had begun eating, letting Finch’s idle chatter, in between the other man’s own bites of food, push his morose thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being. He had a feeling that the older man’s voice, as well as his own mysterious job, unintentionally helped him do that much of the time.

John continued to slowly but steadily eat, not wanting his stomach to rebel after so long without food. He listened to his employer but at the same time didn’t pay much attention to the actual words as they washed over him. Aside from the soup, which he was certain was a new taste experience for him, everything else on the tray was exactly as he preferred it. While he was with the CIA, he had never shared his food preferences, not trusting that they wouldn’t be used against him in some way. Reese realized that he must have placed a lot of trust in Finch if the other man knew this level of detail about him.

Eventually though, some of the words registered with him and had caught his attention. Several times, Finch had used pronouns and other words which indicated a level of knowledge and involvement with the hotel that went way beyond V.I.P. guest status. It was almost as if he owned—

A flash of Finch behind the concierge desk, a fight with a stranger in a restaurant kitchen, and a brunette woman in a maid’s uniform pushing a cart popped into his head. The images lacked any sort of proper context but he figured that they had something to do with a prior assignment for his employer.

“—Reese? Are you okay?”

John set the piece of bread he’d had in his hand down and nodded. Finch didn’t look very convinced, but instead of pushing, he reached into a pocket before holding a pill out to him.

“Your antibiotic,” he needlessly said.

Reese barely spared a thought towards the possibility that the pill could be poisonous as he took it and swallowed it, chasing it down with the rest of his juice. Setting the glass back on the tray, he then pushed it away from him.

His dinner companion surveyed the half-eaten meal before lifting disapproving eyes towards him. He glared back at Finch, effectively communicating that the matter should be dropped immediately. Reese neither needed nor wanted someone to mother hen him, though he got the impression that it would take a Herculean effort to get his employer to stop being one.

 

**ooooooo**

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II will be posted the next time real life backs off a bit. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> Thanks to ncismom for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my fault.


	18. Wrong About This, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the extra-long wait, but along with the real life ‘fun’ going on, I hurt my back which has made doing everything difficult. I’ll try to post the next chapter in the next two weeks. Thanks for your continued patience!
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: This chapter picks up almost exactly where the last one left off.
> 
> .

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Seventeen:  Wrong About This, Part II**   

 

John settled back into his pillows and studiously ignored Finch as the older man sighed and quickly finished his dinner.  He hadn’t realized that he had zoned out until movement from his right caught his attention. His employer, food tray in hand and Bear on his heels, was more than half way to the door to the bedroom. Finch left and returned relatively quickly to take his tray as well, but just as the older man was turning to head out of the room, Dr. Enright came to the door.

She informed them that a surgery she had scheduled two days from now had suddenly been bumped up to as soon as she could get to the hospital. Maddy and her wife needed to leave immediately but she was concerned about leaving John in his present condition. As if he wasn’t in the room, Finch asked if there were any more potential complications, and if not, if there was any reason he could not watch out for John. The doctor admitted that as long as someone stayed with him for the next several days and that he took it easy, getting plenty of rest, then she would feel reasonably comfortable with leaving them on their own. Dr. Enright promised she would check in once a day but would require a follow-up visit in a week. Finch had agreed to her conditions without consulting him. Within thirty minutes, Maddy and Amy were gone and they were alone in the hotel suite.

Reese was annoyed yet grateful that Finch had taken care of the situation since he really didn’t feel like talking to anyone. It was as if his recent recollections of Jessica, which were more complete since he had awakened, including what he had done to her husband, had stolen away his ability to speak. He remembered being similarly struck silent and speaking only when absolutely necessary after leaving New Rochelle.

He felt much more relaxed once the two women were gone. The ex-agent knew that they should be considered friendlies, but in his current state, anyone who wasn’t Finch or Bear seemed to fall into his mental category of enemy.

That relaxed feeling left him when Finch returned to the room with Bear on a leash, announcing that they were going for a short walk up on the roof. Knowing that his employer had been kidnapped once before, John was highly uncomfortable with the idea of them leaving, but he had to trust that their location was secure and that Bear would be able to defend Finch against people who wished to harm them. That didn’t mean he had to like it, nor did it negate the fact that he was feeling both restless and useless, his hands itching for a weapon.

To distract himself, he used the remote he had found in the bedside table drawer to turn the TV on to a program recounting classic baseball games. It didn’t completely work, but it was enough, and only when Finch and Bear had returned did he let go of his anxiety and allowed himself to relax once more.

His employer was pocketing a cell phone as he limped into the room.  “I took the liberty of calling Ms. Brozi to arrange for housekeeping to change out the linens and towels since I will be able to utilize the other bedroom tonight, which I’m sure my back will be very appreciative of.” Finch walked over to stand beside him and grabbed the remote from the bedside table to turn the TV off. “Therefore, it might be a good idea for us to relocate to the living room. You could continue watching your program there.”

Reese couldn’t really argue with the idea of fresh sheets, a change in scenery, or a chance to get his injured body moving. Instead of saying anything though, he threw back the covers and slowly got out of bed. After a detour to the bathroom, where he shut the door in the other man’s face, he eventually made it onto the couch in the living room. Finch had remained close by the entire time, hovering yet trying and failing to not to look like he was hovering.

The program he had been watching before his change of locations had been only five to ten minutes from ending when there was a knock on the suite’s door. Reese tensed up, wishing he had a weapon stashed in case their visitor was an intruder. Not having one though, he had to tamp down the guilty feeling of not being mission ready.

His employer answered the door and admitted the maid he’d seen earlier in his flash of memory. To avoid any awkward questions, he quickly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. For a few moments, she and Finch argued that a manager should not be acting as a maid anymore, that someone else should do the work. Reese privately disagreed since he thought they were better off with someone Finch knew. He could tell that the woman only had good intentions, and it helped ease his mind further that Bear obviously had no problems with her.

After the older man had given in, as John thought he would, Mira was in and out in less than fifteen minutes. He heard her whispering with Finch before she left, but he couldn’t quite catch any of their conversation over the television. After letting Brozi out of their room, Finch retook his seat in the chair next to his end of the couch. John was now actually half-asleep and was contemplating letting himself tip over the edge when the other man spoke.

“I understand why you did it, but Ms. Brozi was there for us when you arrived here looking half-dead. A word or two from you would have done much to put her mind at ease.”

Except to open his eyes, Reese chose not to acknowledge what he had heard but, feeling guilty, he decided he would make more of an effort if he saw Mira again. He idly wondered what type of flowers was appropriate for the situation.

Moments later and for the second time that night, Finch had rudely turned off a program he had been watching. He guessed the other man was trying to bait him into talking, but he just couldn’t bring himself to put a voice to any of his thoughts. Though he had recovered much of his lost memory, the missing pieces were still weighing heavily on his mind.  He suspected it was another reason that he had chosen to keep silent for however long he’d been awake.

He had no idea how long he had been staring at the blackened television screen when Finch finally spoke again.

“Mr. Reese – John – I believe I might understand your recent reticence, but I wish that you would make more of an effort to at least acknowledge me when I’m speaking to you. Perhaps you could employ more non-verbal communication?”

Reese didn’t immediately reply; instead he levered himself off the couch, aggravating his injuries in the process. Once Finch was also standing, he looked his employer in the eye and nodded towards his room. The older man smiled slightly and then hovered by his side as he slowly shuffled along, suggesting that John attempt a quick shower, or at the very least, a change of clothes. Thinking both ideas would serve to help him feel better in the long run, he decided to head towards the bathroom.

By the time he had come out again, he was exhausted and feeling a little shaky. Even though he should’ve known better since it had been hell taking off his other shirt, he was also annoyed that he had been unable to put a clean t-shirt on. He spied Finch, looking anxious, sitting on the edge of his usual chair and Bear waiting for him at his usual corner on the bed. The older man looked ready to bolt from the chair and catch him if he so much as faltered, but Reese succeeded in making it to the bed without incident.

He carefully sat down and remained slightly hunched over in deference to his achy body. Before he could once again talk himself out of the idea, he tentatively held out his t-shirt to Finch, who stared at it as if he had no clue what it was. Then, blinking once, he stood and wordlessly helped him put it on before gathering enough supplies to apply clean bandages to his wounds.

Before sliding under the covers, and thinking it would annoy Finch, Reese signed ‘thank you’ in ASL to the older man, who surprised him with the sign for ‘you’re welcome’ in return. Finch then started heading towards the door, reminding him aloud to contact him if he needed anything at all during the night.

His employer waited for him to get reasonably comfortable before making another sign and shutting off the light and closing the door. Reese only knew a very limited amount of ASL, being much more accustomed to the signs and signals used in the military, so it took him a moment to parse out the meaning.

John wasn’t too surprised that Finch knew some ASL, having pegged the older man as one who loved to acquire knowledge, but at the same time he thought it might have been the first time he had learned this particular fact.

_Good night_ , he thought in return, with a small smile on his face for the first time since he’d awakened in that blown out warehouse.

**ooooooo**

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASL = American Sign Language
> 
> Thanks to ncismom for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my fault.


	19. Feels Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My back is doing better (yay!), but real life is still quite busy and will remain so with the holidays coming up. I’ll try to post new chapters when I can…

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Eighteen: Feels Wrong**    

 

The inevitable happened.

The Numbers never stopped coming, therefore it had been inevitable that another one would come.

The situation brought two rather unfortunate complications to light. The first was that Carter and Fusco were still neck-deep, dealing with the previous Number in a situation just dangerous enough that it required the both of them to handle the job. That didn’t even take into account the fact that they still had their regular jobs to contend with as well.

The other complication was that Mr. Reese was still recovering from the injuries he had sustained in the explosion of the warehouse. His partner’s skillset might still be intact, but physically he wasn’t sound enough to take on the vast majority of the situations that might arise when dealing with a Number. John was also missing the greater part of his memories from the time just prior to when they had begun working together. During those many months, they had developed a rhythm and a sort of short-hand in their communications; for now, their partnership was broken.

Harold had been out in the field more times than he cared to count, but he had handled relatively few Numbers completely on his own since he had picked up where his friend Nathan Ingram had left off. His injuries from the blast and the resultant physical limitations had, until he’d found Reese, prevented him from helping more than a scant handful of people and then primarily via the means he’d had left to him at the time – his computers.

Finch had left John on the couch, eyes closed, listening to a documentary about Bob Ladouceur on the television, and taken Bear out for a much-needed walk. Reese was obviously in pain and had a headache, but was too stubborn to admit it or to take any pain killers for it or any of his other injuries. Harold thought he should be used to his behavior by now but understood that the younger man did not want to be impaired by any drugs while still so vulnerable. In any case, he was just happy that John was talking again; it had been a surprise to hear the raspy voice this morning, but the prior silence had been more than disturbing to him and he was not going to complain.

At the very least he needed to heed the Machine’s summons and get the new Number, but he was reluctant to leave John completely on his own for very long. He resolved that he would take Bear out for a bit, and once the Machine had spoken to him, he would bring the dog back upstairs before going to the Library. Without the two detectives as back-up, his prior dilemma of Friend versus Number had returned to plague him once more.

When John had been missing, the choice of Friend versus Machine had been so much easier to make. Now that Reese had been found and was on the mend, having to make that decision all over again was that much more difficult. He had agreed to the doctor’s deal about staying and keeping watch over his friend, but now he might have to go back on his word. The simplest solution would be to bring his operative with him to the Library, but he feared the journey would be detrimental to John’s impaired health and did not want to risk it. Thus, he would have to find another way.

Finch went out the hotel’s employee entrance and went the long way towards the nearest pay phones; he wanted to make sure that Bear could have the longest walk possible before being confined indoors once again. Given the last couple of nights’ worth of evidence in the form of sleeping arrangements, Harold figured the dog would not mind being inside as long as he was with John.

When he had heard the words the mechanical voices were saying to him, Finch had nearly hung up the phone upon recognizing two out of the three book titles. Leon Tao’s Number had come up enough times that he hadn’t been able to help memorizing the titles and author initials it was comprised of. However, the third part was not that of their “favorite” customer.

_History, Juliet, Romeo_. Multiple books in the collection had titles beginning with “history,” but only one book in the Library would have that title and be authored by someone with the initials J.R.  So, while he already knew the first six digits of the social security number, a trip to the Library would be necessary to complete the sequence.

His stomach dropped towards his feet at the thought of handling a Number without Mr. Reese; it just didn’t seem right anymore. Even after he had hired the down-and-out ex-CIA agent, Harold had handled the occasional case on his own, but those had been instances where the perpetrator had left an electronic trail so blatantly obvious that there was more than abundant evidence to arrest the person before any real harm could be done. Sometimes, the case would be wrapped up early enough and no new Numbers would come, which meant that they had the rest of the day off. They had dubbed those kinds of days ‘vacation days,’ brief respites from the calling they had undertaken, which allowed them to catch up on the mundane activities of life.

On occasion, Harold wondered at the timing of those “easy” Numbers. There was no set pattern nor had there ever been any sort of guarantee when they would come, or even _if_ they would come. Yet, vacation days seemed to arrive just when they really needed a break or after too many overlapping, but unrelated cases. He never knew whether he should be thankful for the time off or worried that the Machine was evolving beyond what he had ever intended. Most of the time he opted for the former option, but there were times the latter had kept him awake at night.

The ding of the elevator brought him out of his musings. With Bear beside him, they stepped out and headed towards the suite. When he had stepped far enough into the room, he had seen Reese, who was now sitting in one of the armchairs, uncocking a gun and putting it back out of sight.

As he released Bear from his leash, Finch said, “I see you found them.”

“I couldn’t sleep for a while last night, got curious, and found the duffle full of weapons.” Reese paused, his expression guarded though Harold could feel the younger man’s irritation. “You shouldn’t have kept them from me.”

Finch could certainly imagine how vulnerable Reese must be feeling and he would guess that feeling must be warring with his natural desire to protect, but in the end, that didn’t change his opinion about guns.

“I don’t like firearms very much,” he replied, inadvertently repeating something he’d said just after the two of them had started working together.

John’s expression seemed to go far away for a brief moment before he closed his eyes and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. When he realized what he had said, Finch concluded that the far-away look had been a memory resurfacing. Dr. Enright had counseled him to let Reese’s memories return naturally, that forcing them could possibly cause more damage in the long run. Harold hadn’t meant to trigger a memory; it was simply a fact about him, one of the first personal ones he had ever shared with his friend. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided not to remark on the incident, something Reese had apparently decided as well.

Finch limped over to the dinner table and sat before his laptop. Even with Mr. Tao’s Number out of the running, there were still 999 other possibilities. He had contingencies for not being able to access the Library, but he would really rather not set them into motion until absolutely necessary, as in the direst of circumstances. Going to the Library meant leaving an ailing Reese on his own for longer than was absolutely necessary given their responsibility to Bear. Just thinking of breaking his word was—.

“Something wrong, Finch?” his friend asked in a neutral tone, startling him out of his thoughts.

Not willing to give too much away, Harold countered, “Why do you ask?”

Reese didn’t answer right away. Instead, his friend set the book he’d had in his lap down on the coffee table before carefully standing up; it was a process that clearly had pained him. It took him a couple of steps, but by the time John made it to the dinner table, a limp was barely noticeable. Only just suppressing a wince, his operative sat down across from him at the table. Reese laid his left hand on the closed lid of the laptop.

“I—,” he paused as if searching for a word. “I associate you with two things: computers and books. You’ve been back in the room for more than five minutes and you’ve touched neither.” Taking his hand off the laptop, he concluded, “Something is on your mind.”

Finch’s mind whirled with all of the possible things he could say. He even considered telling his friend a lie, but in the end decided that in so much as he was able, he would always tell John the truth, just as he had promised on that first day working together.

“We have a new Number.” Reese said nothing in reply, but his expression said he was waiting for more details. Harold laid his own hand on the laptop and continued speaking. “I would rather not discuss the particulars here, but suffice it to say that I need better equipment than I currently have access to in order to accomplish what I need to.”

Reese stared at him for a moment before he started to lever himself out of his chair.

“I’m going with you,” he stated in a tone which 95% of the population would not argue with before proceeding to his room.

However, Harold happened to be in that other 5% and he _did_ argue, though he didn’t think it would do much good.

“John, no. You were in an explosion barely two-and-a-half days ago. You need more time to rest and recover before you go gallivanting across town,” he argued, desperately hoping that his friend would listen.

Standing half in and half out of the bedroom Reese paused and had turned slightly. “I can do it,” he said with utter conviction in his voice.

“Yes, you could,” he conceded, voice rising in worry and anger, “but at what cost to your recovery?”

John leaned his body against the bedroom door frame. “Finch, I—” Reese stopped, looking like he didn’t know how to put what he was thinking into words, but his eyes somehow spoke of his raw need.

Harold had a feeling it was going to end up being a very bad idea, but decided to relent anyway. His injured friend must have seen that he had given in and turned to enter his room, presumably to change his clothes. He knew what clothes were in the closet and dresser and wondered what the younger man would choose – casual clothes or the suit.

Finch sighed, trying to tamp down his anxiety, and said, “Let me know if you need any help.”

**ooooooo**

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quiz Time: Can anyone guess why I had Reese watching a documentary on Bob Ladouceur? (Hint: it’s not B.L.’s accomplishments). 
> 
> Changes were made after ncismom did her beta thing. Blame me for the left over mistakes! 
> 
> To those who celebrate: Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving!


	20. Wrong Foot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a good idea to review the previous chapter since this one takes place almost immediately after it…

**ooooooo**

 

**Chapter Nineteen: Wrong Foot**   

 

With Finch’s offer of help echoing in his head, Reese was about to shut the door to his bedroom, but at the last moment he left it ajar instead. In his mind, the action was a sort of tacit permission to Bear and Finch that they were allowed into his space. He marveled at the concept since he never would have done the same thing with his partners at the CIA. John still couldn’t remember Finch’s given name, if he had even known it in the first place, and yet his subconscious kept working overtime to remind him that he trusted the other man. 

Walking towards the bathroom and surrounded by the evidence of his physical weaknesses, he wasn’t so sure that he would be able to keep up with his employer. Every step he took, every movement he made was a tangible and all too often painful reminder of what had happened to him. It also served as a wake-up call to him that just maybe he had been a touch too overconfident in his assertion that he could keep up with Finch as they went wherever they needed to go. 

He couldn’t explain it, just like he couldn’t explain his sudden willingness to speak again, but he needed to go with Finch. For some reason, the mere mention of a new Number made him extremely apprehensive, which had led to his declaration that he would accompany his employer. Only a small part of it was his desire to get back on the job despite the fact that he was far from mission ready and had very little intel as to what his role was in the operation. The majority was a mess of the indefinable with foreboding generously blended in, and all of it said that he had to go regardless of the cost to his recovery. 

Being allowed sufficient time to recuperate was, in of itself, a novelty for him. During his tenure with the CIA, there had been times he had worked while injured. Kara was supposed to have been his partner, but all too often she had treated him as nothing more than gum on the bottom of her shoe or as someone to manipulate into having sex with her. When injured, Stanton had treated his wounds with indifference and with the goal to get him back to operational readiness – everything else was considered superfluous. The doctor, the comfortable place to recuperate, the bedside vigil, the _everything_ that his employer had done for him the last few days – he hadn’t had anything come remotely close to it since he had been in the Army. In his mind, simply thanking Finch would never be enough to show just how grateful he was for such humane treatment. 

Cursing himself for his wool-gathering, he stepped into the bathroom. Of all the times he’d been in there, he’d never really paid attention to what he looked like. Now, standing in front of the mirror, he could understand some of Finch’s objections to his company. Admittedly, he pretty much looked like death warmed over. His skin was pale and there was a lot of bruising on the right side of his face, which made the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. 

Reaching up, he scratched at the beginnings of a beard on his face. From the amount of growth, it had been four or five days since he’d last used a razor. He’d been out on a long-term mission for the Army the last time he’d grown… 

A sudden wave of vertigo crashed over him, forcing him to grip the edge of the sink to stay upright. The Army _wasn’t_ the last time he’d had a beard. His hands had gone white from the way he continued to hold on to the countertop while trying to remain standing while a torrent of images flashed behind his closed eyelids. There were brief glimpses of Jessica’s husband, Peter, standing in a darkened room and time spent with a kind homeless woman at one of the encampments which transitioned into a subway ride that had then turned into a fight with some young punks. 

The clearest memories were associated with that fight. He had remembered that, at that point, he’d been so tired of life that he had willingly gone with the cops that had come when the train had stopped. He had known what would happen if he refused to give his name at the police station. The beautiful detective, whose name currently eluded him, had thought she’d been so clever as to “trick” him into giving her his fingerprints. In all honesty, he’d _wanted_ her to have them and had been relieved that it would soon be over. The alert triggered would have brought the CIA and an end to his misery. Ever so slowly, he’d been killing himself with alcohol, but had welcomed the idea of fast-tracking his death. 

A sudden weight against his legs forced him back to the present. He had managed to stay upright though he still felt a little weak at the knees. He took a couple of deep breaths and glanced down to see Bear sitting next to him. The influx of memories had left him with a steadily worsening headache and his stomach feeling queasy. After another minute just focusing on breathing, he felt steady enough to let go of the sink. Shaking out the cramped muscles in his hands, he then thanked Bear before scratching the dog’s ears. 

Many of the memories he’d just recovered didn’t seem to be complete since he wasn’t sure of their proper context or place in his life. He felt that he was missing some very important details, but dropped the mental tether that led to them. If his employer had been the one to find him just now, then he would have been left behind, and he could not, _would not_ , let that happen. Bear nosed his hand in an obvious bid for more attention and Reese indulged him for a moment before quickly finishing in the bathroom. 

Standing in front of the open closet, John was confronted with several sets of clothes ranging from casual to business attire. Not knowing what situations he was going to face, the black jeans seemed to be the best choice, but the suit that was also hanging there seemed to call to him more. In the CIA, the majority of his assignments had required a suit to blend in. In many respects, it had become his uniform something akin to the Desert BDUs he’d worn in the Army. The suit felt right despite the overall practicality of wearing more casual clothes, and in some ways it likely would be more forgiving to his myriad of wounds. 

He grabbed the suit and a white dress shirt and headed towards his bed, Bear watching his every move. Already he felt tired, which frustrated him to no end, but he refused to give in to it and he wouldn’t give up. Reese wouldn’t let his weaknesses keep him from doing his job, whatever that entailed.

It took longer than he had liked to change his clothes with every one of his injuries joining to become a chorus which all sang the same pain-filled tune. Dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed, and headache thumping in time with his pulse, he was considering the problem of shoes. The way he currently felt, going over and bending down to get them from the floor of his closet would likely result with him face-planting on the carpet. While wondering if he could get Bear to retrieve his shoes, he heard a knock on his partially-open door. 

“Mr. Reese, we should not linger for much longer. Are you about ready to go?” his employer asked as he entered the room. 

John could see Finch frowning as the older man assessed the scene. Reese knew he that he was not ready for the field, and he knew that Finch could see that as well, but he stubbornly refused to admit he needed help right now. Going with his employer and doing his job meant regaining the remainder of his lost memories and he would not be convinced otherwise. 

Knowing he probably looked worse that he did only minutes ago, he ended up going with what he knew would be a poor attempt at deflection. 

“Just about. What’s the weather like outside?” 

Finch’s expression, something he’d had a difficult time reading up until now, was clearly telegraphing that he was aware what was truly going on. With a resigned sigh and matching expression on his face, his employer limped over to the dresser and pulled some socks out of a drawer before going to the closet and retrieving a pair of shoes. 

His employer shoved both items towards him and said, “While you finish up, I’ll get Bear ready to go.” 

The bespectacled man called for the dog and they headed towards the door. Stopping at the dresser once more, Finch pocketed two bottles of pills that were sitting on top with some other medical supplies. Reese presumed they were his pain killers and antibiotics, which was as good a confirmation as any that he would not be left behind despite his limitations. 

Just before exiting, Finch turned to him and said, “Oh, and Mr. Reese, you’ll want to grab your overcoat; it’s not quite spring yet.” 

Reese couldn’t help the smirk that erupted on his face once Finch left the room.

 

**ooooooo**

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desert BDU = Desert Battle Dress Uniform. 
> 
> I apologize for the long delay between chapters. I am working on this story and I do plan on completing it, but currently some weird form of writer’s block has me writing scenes completely out of sequence. Real life has also done its part in keeping me from writing/posting more frequently. Unfortunately, this means I can’t guarantee when I’ll be able to post the next chapter. Thank you for your patience! :)
> 
> Ncismom did her beta thing, but blame me for the left over mistakes. Have I mentioned yet that POI is not mine?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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